


Gravity

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-15
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel <i>Adam's Fall</i> by Sandra Brown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shock Treatment

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted at the Spuffy Fantasy Archives in the early 2000s. It's bounced around from site to site for well over a decade, finally landing here at Ao3.

"No, no, no!" The blonde physical therapist shook her head. "A thousand times no, Dawnie." She stared down her younger sister, who was looking at her pleadingly.

"But Buffy..." Dawn pleaded. "You saw the report..."

"Yes, I did," Buffy replied, remembering the breaking news on ESPN, which she sporadically watched to scout for new clients. _William Broad, the world-renowned mountain climber, was involved in a serious accident this morning in Italy. He is alive but unstable. We'll report more when we get information from the Italian hospital, where they're currently evaluating him_. "But that doesn't mean that I have to be his therapist. Why can't you get someone in LA to do it? I know, for instance, that Harmony Kendall would jump at the opportunity."

"Because you're the best," Dawn insisted. She looked to her fiancé for help. "Carlos, help me out here..."

"Oh, no. I'm not getting in the middle of you two," he wisely replied, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. "You're gonna have to fight this battle yourself, Dawn."

"Buffy, please...?"

"No, Dawn, and that's final."

Dawn looked crestfallen. Suddenly, an evil glint replaced the sad look in her eyes. "Remember that drinking binge that you had your junior year of high school, right after you and Angel broke up? Remember how you said that you'd do me a huge favor some other time if I didn't tell Mom?"

"Oh, you are _not_ bringing that up now..." Buffy groaned. "Yeah, I said I'd do you a huge favor, but when I said that I didn't mean that I'd work on a man that I can barely stand to be in the same room with."

"Doesn't a little part of you wonder if you could make a paralyzed man walk again?" Dawn prodded.

"Well... maybe a little...?" Buffy admitted.

"So why won't you do it?"

"Because... I don't like him?" Buffy realized how childish that sounded and amended, "and he doesn't like me, either."

Dawn gave her sister her best puppy dog eyes. "Buffy, please. He's already scared away five therapists..."

"And that winning endorsement makes me want to do this how, exactly?" She walked over to the large, plate-glass window that dominated the wall behind her desk, staring down at the New York City streets below.

"Because I know that you can handle him."

"How do you know?"

"Does the name Johnny Damon spring to mind?" Dawn asked, referring to the mean-spirited Hell's Angels enthusiast who, after having been in a motorcycle accident, had been entrusted into Buffy's capable hands when she'd only been in the business for a few months. She'd endured every irritating moment of it, and he'd walked like a pro when she'd finished with him. "I mean please, if you can handle a member of a biker gang, I'm sure you can handle Spike. He's smaller, for one." Carlos snickered, and Dawn shushed him. "Plus, think of it this way. Two months in Southern California, living in a mansion... Great chance for you to work on your tan..."

Buffy's mouth watered at the prospect of her skin seeing a little sun. "It has been awhile..." she murmured, enticed. She shook her head. "What am I saying? I can't work on Spike. He's Spike, for Pete's sake!"

Ten hours later, Buffy was on a plane to Los Angeles.

~*~*~*~*~

Sunnydale was quaint. Mind you, "quaint" is a word that people from NYC used for a one-Starbucks town, so in this scenario the word actually meant, "boring as holy hell". The black Lincoln with tinted windows rolled through the quiet streets of the small, southern Californian town, and its passenger took this opportunity to survey the sights. Once they had passed the downtown area, Buffy silently thanked the Powers that Sunnydale was an ocean town, because that was seemingly its only asset. The car stopped for a moment, and when it drove on, the blonde's eyes widened. They drove through wrought-iron gates, and up a rather steep driveway to a colossal mansion, built in stone.

The grounds were magnificent, with well-groomed tropical gardens scattered on the green lawn. She was giddy with excitement at  
the prospect of exploring the gargantuan residence, her sullen mood [which, if truth be told, was more than partially caused by travel-weariness] virtually forgotten.

The driver pulled up to the front of the house, then killed the engine and walked around the car to the rear, where he opened the door for Buffy. She climbed out of the Lincoln and stretched her legs, then looked around. The mansion was even more gorgeous once she was out of the car than it had been while she was still sitting.

She walked up to the front door and was reaching for the doorknob when it was flung wide open. A middle-aged woman stood before her, wearing a black maid's uniform, and she grinned widely when she saw the blonde standing out on the front steps. "Ah, you must be Buffy," she said kindly. "Come in, come in!"

Buffy was ushered into the house, and she had a few issues with holding back an expression of awe as she took in the interior of the foyer. "This is a beautiful house," Buffy said to no one in particular.

"Glad you like it. I'm Gina, the housekeeper, and the gentleman who drove you here is Michael. He's Mr. Broad's assistant." Michael rushed by them with Buffy's largest two bags, hurrying up the stairs and disappearing onto the second floor. "Allow me to show you to your room?"

Buffy nodded, and followed Gina as she scurried up the same staircase that Michael had just ascended. They entered a long hallway and Gina stopped short at a mahogany door, opening it. They walked into a spacious bedroom, and Buffy's heels sank into a lush carpet. A massive four-poster bed dominated the room, which was decorated in creams and earth tones. There was a large, full bath off to the side, complete with a deep whirlpool tub.

The faint smell of fresh paint lingered in the air as she took in the space that she'd be living for the next two months. "It's wonderful," she commented. Michael appeared with the last of Buffy's things, depositing them in a corner of the room.

"So, when will you be working on Mr. Broad?" Gina asked.

Buffy seemed not to notice the housekeeper, who was wringing her hands in agitation as the therapist responded. "Um... I'd actually rather not jump right into things this minute. I mean, for starters, I'm incredibly grimy from all the traveling, and I haven't eaten since this mor..." she trailed off as she noticed Gina's nervous expression. "What? Does he not know I'm here?"

"Not... exactly...?" Gina hedged. "He thinks that he won't be getting anymore therapy..."

"Oh, great..." Buffy groaned. "So this means that he's not consenting? Ugh! Why do I let Dawn talk me into this kind of situation all the time?"

"We were told that you were the best, that you could... fix him."

"I've seen his scans and read his reports. I most likely _can_ fix him, but it's a lot easier to work with someone if they're willing to have the therapy..." she squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment, rubbing her temples. "Alright. I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to try to find the kitchen. After I've eaten something, I'll see if I can talk some sense into him." She turned toward her things, hearing a quiet click as Gina closed the door behind her.

~*~*~*~*~

"Here, kitchen, kitchen..." Buffy called quietly as she walked carefully down the hallway. So far she'd managed to find an office, a home theater room, and a lounge with a fully-stocked bar and pool table, as well as an elevator, a parking garage filled with cars she was itching to try out, and an indoor swimming pool with a hot tub on one end. She turned a corner, and found herself in a large kitchen. "Ah," she said. "Kitchen."

There was an enormous refrigerator on one wall, and she opened it curiously. Her eyes widened at the array of food stocked within, and after staring at the selection for a few minutes, she concluded that the decision was too big to make alone. She closed the refrigerator again and walked into the pantry, raiding the shelves until she'd found a can of ravioli. "Mmm... Chef Boyardee. Good for what ails ya."

She opened a few drawers before she found one with a can opener in it, and she opened the ravioli up. The enticing scent of tomato-meat sauce and stuffed pasta nearly overwhelmed her, and after a moment's deliberation, she decided to forego the heating stage, opening the  
drawer she'd seen utensils in and pulling out a fork.

Gina walked in a few moments later, smiling as she saw the diminutive blonde sitting at the kitchen counter and eating pasta out of the can. "You know, I could've heated that up for you," she said finally.

Buffy nearly dropped her fork. She swallowed, before gasping, "You scared me! And I was too hungry to wait." She went back to happily munching on the ravioli.

"Could I get you something to drink?" the housekeeper asked.

"I think I saw bottles of water in the fridge, unless my hunger was making me see things. I'd take one of those, please."

Gina scuttled over to the refrigerator and got out a large water bottle, handing it to Buffy.

"Thanks," Buffy said in between mouthfuls. "Tell me, has Spike been eating?" The housekeeper's silence was enough answer for her. "Could you put together a tray for him? Nothing fancy, maybe some fruit and a sandwich?"

Gina nodded, setting to work. "Michael hasn't been able to get him to eat," she offered.

"I guarantee that by tonight I'll have gotten him to eat something," Buffy said, determinedly. She finished the ravioli off, tossing the can in a wastebasket and placing the fork in the sink. She then washed her hands, drying them on a towel that hung next to her.

Gina added a branch of grapes to the pile of food she'd placed on a large plate. "All finished, if you're ready to see him."

Buffy nodded.

"His room is on the end of the hall upstairs."

The blonde plucked the plate from the countertop and made her way back up the stairs, passing her room and a library before she got to the door on the end of the hall. Juggling the plate, she knocked twice before opening the door.

"Michael, I told you to leave me alone."

"Not Michael," Buffy said as she stepped into the room. "I like the mood lighting. Very funereal," she said, casting a glance at the tightly-drawn curtains.

Spike craned his neck and looked up, a surprised expression on his face. "Would you mind tellin' me what the bloody hell you're doing here?" he asked, gritting his teeth as she set down her plate on his dresser, then bustled about the room opening the blinds. Light flooded the room.

"Dawnie did me a favor a few years back. Now I'm repaying her," she said dryly. "But first, we really need to do something about the smell in here." She opened one of the windows, allowing some fresh air in.

He sighed, his head dropping to the pillows again, mussing his already tousled hair, which stood in bleached tufts away from his scalp. "I don't need a soddin' therapist, pet, so you go ahead and go back to New York."

"Well, one of us definitely needs one, and I'm voting on the bed-ridden person who hasn't eaten in days, according to his housekeeper," she said pointedly, dragging an easy chair across the room and situating it next to the bed.

"I'm _fine_ ," he insisted again.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Prove it."

"Excuse me?"

"I told you to prove it. Get up and walk around the room." She sat down in the chair, the plate of food on her lap, and waited a few seconds, watching him. "Huh. Guess you're not so fine. Can you sit up?"

Spike struggled to get into a sitting position. After a few tries, he grumbled in frustration and his arms flopped onto the bedspread.

"Let me help you," Buffy said, placing the food on a nearby nightstand. She stood and leaned over Spike, gripping him beneath his armpits, and then hauled him upwards until he was sitting. The smell of vanilla filled his mind and he inhaled sharply as she positioned a pillow behind his back and head. Satisfied, she sat back down and picked up the plate again. "So. Here's the deal," she began.

He turned his head to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not leaving this room," she said, popping a grape into her mouth, "until you eat."

"Not hungry," he said stubbornly.

Buffy's gaze drifted down Spike's torso, taking in the protruding ribs and concave abdomen. "So you want to explain to me, then, why one of the best athletes on the globe has a figure that bears a startling resemblance to a famine victim?" She popped another grape into her  
mouth, and noticed Spike glancing at the food ever so often, a ravenous expression on his face. "These are _really_ good grapes," she said.

"You'll leave if I eat?" he asked hopefully.

Buffy nodded, pleased when one hand whipped out and grabbed a grape, shoving it in his mouth. He chewed purposefully, and then swallowed. "There. I ate. Now..." he trailed off, taking another grape.

Buffy applauded herself inwardly as he began to nearly inhale the food on the plate. "Guess you were hungrier than you thought?" she asked finally, when he'd downed half of the water bottle that she'd brought up for him at the last minute.

He shrugged. "You gonna go away now?"

"Yeah, yeah." She stood, and then carried the plate out of the room and down to the kitchen. "Got him to eat," she said to Gina, who was busy preparing dinner. "Now all I have to do is get him to bathe." She turned to the housekeeper. "Do you have a big, plastic bowl?" she asked. Gina procured one from a cabinet and handed it to her. "Great, thanks," she said, sprinting back up the stairs. She entered Spike's bedroom once more.

"I thought you said you were gonna leave."

"Never said I wouldn't come back," she responded. "We're gonna get you clean."

"We..." Spike began. She walked into his bathroom, and he heard the sound of running water. "What, do you expect me to stand in the shower?" he called. The water shut off.

Buffy returned, carrying the plastic bowl, which was now filled nearly to the brim with warm, sudsy water. "Ever hear of a sponge bath?" she asked, waving a washcloth at him. She set the bowl down on the nightstand and, with no further ado, whipped back the sheets.

"Oi!" Spike shouted, his hands immediately protecting his groin from her roving eyes.

"Not bad," she commented as she took in his lean form. "But unless you want crotch rot, I'm gonna have to suggest that you move your hands at some point." She bunched the flat sheet, pulling it over his genitals, and he removed his hands. "Alright. Eyes closed," she said, dipping the washcloth into the soapy water.

She washed his face quickly, the white washcloth scraping over a few days' worth of dark stubble. "You can go ahead and open up again," she said, dropping the washcloth into the basin again and wringing it. Spike's blue eyes locked on her as she moved back and forth between the water and his body. She skipped the area that the sheet covered, starting again a few inches down his thighs, scrubbing down his legs and feet and even between his toes. She put the cloth in the water again, then squeezed the excess moisture from it, placing it in his hand. "Can you finish up?" she asked. "I need to get more water, this is getting cold and it's positively filthy."

Spike nodded, and by the time she returned with a fresh basin of water, he'd covered himself again. She set the water down on the nightstand. "Think we can get you on your stomach?"

"Probably, if you manhandle me again," he replied. "Let's roll me over."

Between the two of them it was fairly easy to move him, and he was soon positioned on his front. "You're not as sensitive about me seeing your butt, are you?" she asked bluntly. "Because unless your arms are double-jointed, it's gonna be a little hard for you to wash  
it yourself."

Spike sighed in resignation. "Go ahead..."

She pulled the sheets off him, noticing a few red abrasions on his lower thighs and backside. She prodded at one and he hissed in pain. "Bloody 'ell, woman!" he ground out.

She clucked her tongue. "Bedsores," she said. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

"Hey, you can't just leave me here..." he called as she walked from the room. "Summers!" When he received no response, he tried again, this time a little more worriedly. "Buffy?"

Buffy returned to the room, a small tube of ointment in one hand. This she placed on the nightstand. "For the love of all things holy..." Spike began, "you can't just leave a bloke lyin' helpless and trussed up like a Thanksgivin' turkey..."

She didn't respond, and instead busied herself with washing his back. She started at the bottom and worked her way up, then across his shoulders and back down. The cloth wiped over his hips before curving around to his buttocks, lingering there as she thoroughly cleaned the areas where the bedsores had sprung up. Every once in a while he winced as she hit a particularly tender spot, but otherwise he was silent. The washcloth traveled down his legs and across his heels, and while she washed, she picked up each of his feet and manipulated the bones in them. By the time she was finished washing him, his skin around the bedsores had almost completely dried, so she put the washcloth down and picked up the ointment.

"This might sting a little," she commented as she unscrewed the cap and squeezed a generous amount onto a forefinger. She rubbed the cool cream into his skin, and he gritted his teeth against the stinging sensation. Buffy continued with the cream, though she became aware that he'd stopped flinching when she'd moved to the bedsores on his thighs. Finally, when she was satisfied that she'd covered all the tender spots, she screwed the cap back on the ointment. "All done," she said. "You're gonna have to help me move you onto your back."

"Hold on, I think I can do this on my own," he said determinedly. He pushed up with his arms, locking them at the elbow, then pushed hard enough with his right arm to propel him sideways, turning him over.

"Neat trick," Buffy commented as she straightened his legs and pulled the sheets over him once more. When she'd finished tucking him in, she picked up the basin and carried it into his bathroom, dumping its contents down the sink. She returned a moment later. "Tomorrow morning, I'm gonna start you on a therapy routine."

"I told you, luv, I don't need therapy."

Buffy stood back in mock-shock. "What, you think that I'm gonna let you get away with just the feeding and sponge bath? You're lucky that you even got that, buddy. Here," she said, handing him a stick of deodorant that she'd found on the counter next to his sink. "Put that on. Then maybe you won't smell quite as offensive the next time I come in here."

She picked up the basin and washcloth, pocketing the ointment, then headed for the door.

"Summers..." Spike called as she reached the doorway. She turned around and faced him. "Will I ever walk again?" His voice held a vulnerability that the maternal side of her latched onto.

"Spike, if I have my way, you'll be running by December."


	2. The Shock Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

"Good morning!" Buffy sang as she entered Spike's bedroom promptly at 9 AM the next day.

Spike groaned, one hand reaching blindly out and grabbing a pillow, then covering his head with it.

"I don't have to yank off the covers again, do I?" she threatened as she placed a tray of food on the nightstand.

The paraplegic heaved a sigh, pulling the pillow off his face and opening his eyes a crack. "You're a nightmare. I'm gonna close my eyes, and when I open them again, you're gonna be elsewhere." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut for a few moments, then opened them again. "Bloody hell," he grumbled.

Buffy smiled in amusement. "Want some breakfast?" She popped a strawberry into her mouth, biting into the firm, red flesh. A drop of its juice trickled from the side of her mouth and she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

"You're never gonna let me be, are you?" Spike whined.

"Let me think about that one..." Buffy said, cocking her head and pausing dramatically. "Nope. Can't say as I am."

"Give me the soddin' food..." he ordered grumpily.

"Ooh, someone's not a morning person," she chided. "You gonna eat lying down?"

"Not like I can move m'self, is it?" he asked. "Guess you're gonna have to handle my hot, tight little body and... oomph!" he wheezed as Buffy took him by the armpits and hauled him up into a sitting position, again propping him back on a pillow. "Thanks ever so."

"No problem," she replied as she poured milk over a bowl of Lucky Charms. She stuck a spoon into the cereal and handed it to him. "Eat up, you're gonna need the energy."

"You plannin' on makin' me run a marathon, luv?" Spike asked sardonically between mouthfuls.

"Not yet." She bit into another strawberry, chewing the sweet fruit slowly, then swallowed. "Today, you get your first massage."

"Um... not to burst your bubble or anythin', pet, but I've 'ad massages before." He scooped another spoonful of Lucky Charms into his mouth.

Buffy rolled her eyes. " _Therapeutic_ massage. Not quite the same thing."

"I'll believe it when I see it..."

"I'm sure you will."

~*~*~*~*~

"Ow! Where the buggerin' 'ell did you learn to massage, you bint? Madame Desdemona's House o' Pain?" the mountain climber ground out ten minutes later.

"Not my fault," Buffy reasoned. "If you'd been getting therapy all along, your back wouldn't feel like a badly-knitted scarf. Now lie still." She squirted more lotion into her palms, then slapped her hands together and rubbed to warm it up, then worked on him some more. "You wearing underwear today?" she asked, reaching for the sheet that hadn't as of yet gone lower than his waist.

"No," he said, wincing in discomfort as she attacked a knot at the small of his back. "Ow!" He squirmed slightly.

"Ever get a butt massage?" she asked, right before her lotion-slick hands lowered to his glutes.

"Not really my thing, Summers," he replied, turning his head and burying his face in the pillow as she massaged his buttocks.

"Bedsores look better this morning."

He turned his head once more, resting his cheek on the bed. "Yeah, an' they don't hurt like 'ell anymore either."

Buffy's capable hands began to massage his thighs. "You feel this?" she asked.

"Little pressure," he said. "I can feel you pressin' in, but not much else."

"How 'bout here?" she asked as her hands traveled to his calves.

"Don't feel anythin' from the knees down."

"We'll work on that." She finished up quickly, then moved back. "Can you flip yourself over this morning?"

"Yeah," he said, grunting softly as he rolled himself over using his arms and abdominal muscles. His hands once again cupped his groin. "Listen, Summers, you mind goin' over to my dresser an' gettin' a pair of briefs?"

"Sure," she said, walking over to the large, mahogany structure and opening the top drawer. "Which drawer?" she called over her shoulder.

"Middle," he responded.

She opened up the middle drawer and from the heap of multi-styled underwear, pulled out a pair of dark blue briefs. She was about to close the dresser again when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. She plucked a garment from the drawer, holding it between her thumb and forefinger, then held it up on display. "Never pictured you as the lacy thong type," she teased.  
  
"That's Dru's," he replied. "She must've left it 'ere the last time she visited."  
  
"She's the figure skater, right?" Buffy inquired. "Dawn told me about her."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
Buffy tossed the thong back into the dresser, closing the drawer with her knee, then returned to Spike's bedside. "How do we want to do this?" she asked, holding up the briefs.  
  
"Usually feet first," he stated dryly.  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," she retorted, walking to the foot of the bed. She worked the briefs over his feet and up his legs. "Think you can lift up?" she asked.  
  
"Not likely," he replied.  
  
"Oh well," she said, tugging the briefs as they passed beneath his buttocks. She soon had his groin and hands encased in the cotton fabric, and stood back, turning around as Spike arranged himself within the briefs, then pulled his hands away. She turned back to him. "Ready for stage two?" she asked.  
  
He nodded, and she squirted lotion into her hands, ready to begin loosening up his quads. Once the lotion had warmed between her palms, she lowered them to his left thigh, rubbing firmly up and down from the edge of the blue fabric to his knee, then back up.  
  
"So 'ow long you been doin' this?" he asked, his cerulean eyes on her as she worked at his thigh.  
  
"Five years this May," she replied. "Why the curiosity?"  
  
"Bloke likes to know who's workin' on 'im is all." His eyes followed her hands as they slowly traveled up and down his leg.  
  
"Right." Buffy began to massage the tendons around his kneecap. "Anything else you want to know?"  
  
"Why're you doin' this for me, Buffy?" His voice had suddenly softened, taking on the same vulnerable tone that it'd been laced with the previous night.  
  
Her hands paused in their descent down his leg. "I told you," she said, stepping back and reaching for the lotion, "I owed Dawn a big favor, and she's considering this it."  
  
"What kind o' favor?"  
  
"The kind that makes me work on a guy who asks too many questions," she replied.  
  
Spike raised his left eyebrow, and Buffy took that opportunity to change the subject. "So, when do you get the stitches out of your eyebrow?" she asked, climbing onto the bed at the foot to massage his ankle.  
  
He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "No avoidin' the question, pet."  
  
"You really want to know?"  
  
"I _really_ wanna know." Spike lifted his head, stacking his hands behind it. "Tell me."  
  
"My sophomore year of high school, I met a guy." She massaged his foot as she talked. "His name was Angel, and - "  
  
Spike snorted. "What kind of a name is _Angel_?" he asked.  
  
"What kind of a name is _Spike_?" Buffy asked pointedly. "Are you going to let me share my deep, dark secret or not?"  
  
"Carry on, luv."  
  
"His name was Angel, and he was in college. We fell in love, or at least I did. On the night of my seventeenth birthday, we went back to his apartment, and we slept together. The next morning..." she trailed off.  
  
"Wanker was gone, eh?"  
  
"Yeah. I went home, unlocked Mom's liquor cabinet, and drank enough to last for days. Mom had left on a business trip, so it wasn't until Dawnie came home from school that she found me, sitting on the couch with three empty bottles on the coffee table in front of me and a fourth, half-empty, in my hand. She dragged me up to the shower, turned the water on cold, and pushed me in. Sobered me right up. For a fourteen-year-old, she was a pretty smart kid. She promised not to tell Mom, but told me that I'd owe her. Hence - " she broke off, gesturing to him. "Here I am."  
  
"Touchin' story," he said as she began on his right thigh. The vulnerability in his tone had dissolved. "Why do I think that the favor you owed Dawn wasn't the only reason you came out 'ere to try your hand at gettin' me on my feet again?"  
  
"Because it isn't...?" she hedged.  
  
"Oh, do tell," he said.  
  
"Let's just say that Dawn is very good at persuading people," she said. "My argument was that we wouldn't get along."  
  
"Looks to me like we're gettin' along just fine..."  
  
"I also have you completely at my mercy right now. You wouldn't like it if we weren't getting along." She paused. "After she told me that you'd scared away five therapists, she also reminded me of a biker that I had to work on my first year. She told me I could handle you - at least until you got back on your feet."  
  
The massage moved toward said feet, and Buffy lightly scratched her nails against his right sole. "Tickle?" she asked, smirking.  
  
"Ha bloody ha, Summers."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Spike's bedroom door swung open. "Beep beep!" Buffy exclaimed as she entered the room in a wheelchair. "Got you a present, Spikey..."  
  
Spike took one look at the wheelchair and bristled. "I am _not_ gettin' in that thing."  
  
"Have it your way. I just thought you might want to get out of your bedroom, but if you're sure you want to spend such a beautiful day alone in your room..." she trailed off. "Plus, if you know how to get in and out of the wheelchair, you'll be able to go pretty much anywhere you want in the house. Change of scenery would be pretty nice right about now, wouldn't it?"  
  
Spike was silent for a moment. "Show me how to get in the soddin' chair, Summers..."  
  
"Until you can do it yourself, I'm gonna have to help you get in and out. We need to move you to the edge of the bed - " she pulled back the sheets. "Good grief! Do you _never_ wear clothing?!"  
  
"Sorry pet. Habit." He smirked at her. "If my nudity offends you so much, you _could_ get me a pair of knickers from the drawer. Maybe a pair of shorts too."  
  
Within minutes, Spike was dressed in a long pair of Umbro shorts.  
  
"Now," Buffy said. "Let's get you to the edge of the bed. You can sit up, right?"  
  
The tendons in his throat stood out as he slowly sat up. "Huh. Guess so."  
  
"Alright, then. We have to swing you around," she said, taking hold of his ankles. "Brace yourself." She pulled his legs to the side so they were hanging off the edge of the mattress. "Scoot forward?"  
  
Spike reached backwards and pushed, propelling his lower body closer to Buffy.  
  
"Good," she said as she brought the wheelchair forward and locked the wheels. "You're gonna have to rely on your upper-arm strength for this next step, because even though I'm good at hauling you while you're in bed, but I don't think I can pick up all 158 pounds of you."  
  
"163," he corrected.

"I'm figuring for the at least five pounds of muscle that atrophied off you in the time that you weren't having therapy."  
  
"Right then. How's this next step work?"  
  
"Reach over, grab the armrests of the chair, and swing your body into it," she said, stepping back to allow him space.  
  
"That's it?" he asked.  
  
"Should be, unless there's a step I'm missing... oh yeah. Don't fall."  
  
Spike reached for the armrests, then hefted his body up. The muscles in his arms trembled with exertion as he lifted himself, and he was soon panting, but he managed relatively quickly to seat himself in the chair.  
  
Buffy arranged his legs, putting his feet on the rests. "Nice job," she complimented. "Most of my patients fall at least twice before they get into the chair for the first time."  
  
"Never been one to follow the rules, luv," Spike said, looking up at her from his seated position. "So, where are we going?"  
  
"First, we're going to my room, where you'll wait outside while I change out of this," she said, motioning at her light gray workout pants and pink tee-shirt. She unlocked the wheels on the chair. "Ready?"  
  
Spike nodded. "Roll away," he said in a mock-commanding tone.  
  
She took hold of the handles at the rear of the chair, pushing it forward. She rolled the chair through the doorway and down the hall, stopping outside her door. "Wait here," she said, disappearing into her room.  
  
Spike looked around boredly, drumming his fingers on the armrests of the chair. The hallway looked bigger from the new perspective, he noted as he sat by Buffy's door.  
  
She emerged, dressed in a black tanktop, brief, frayed cutoffs, and a pair of black flip-flops. "Let's go," she said, reaching down and unlocking the wheels. She didn't, however, resume her position behind the chair. Instead, she began walking down the hall by herself. When she noticed that Spike wasn't rolling next to her, she turned and planted her hands on her hips.  
  
"Well?" she asked. "It's not that hard... roll them forward and the chair goes forward..."  
  
"Yeah," he grunted, rolling the chair toward her. They progressed down the hall, stopping at the elevator that Buffy'd discovered in her search for the kitchen when she'd arrived.  
  
She pressed the button with a slender finger, and the elevator whirred to life, the car riding up the cables in the shaft. The doors opened and she entered it, Spike rolling in behind her. They rode the elevator down to the ground floor, where they got out and turned toward the pool.  
  
"Thought we were going outside," he commented as the chair rolled to a stop on the hand-laid stone floor that surrounded the swimming pool.  
  
"This counts as outside, doesn't it?" she asked, kicking off her flip-flops. She walked over to a large shelf stocked with fluffy beachtowels and grabbed one, tossing it over her shoulder. "I'm going to swim," she declared.  
  
"And I'm goin' to do what, exactly?"  
  
"Watch?" she suggested, grasping the hem of her tank top and pulling it over her head, revealing a dark green bikini top. She unbuttoned the cutoffs and shimmied slightly. The little motion allowed them to fall to her feet, and she stood before him in a tiny bikini that left little to the imagination. She turned toward the pool and walked toward the deep end, then dove in.  
  
Spike's eyes willingly took in her form as her body sluiced through the warm pool water. She did a few laps before slowing down and flipping over onto her back, floating. "The water feels great," she called to Spike. "We're gonna have to get you in the pool for therapy sometime."  
  
"... yeah..." he replied, his mind elsewhere as he gazed at her. He shook his head and tore his eyes from her lithe figure, staring outside through one of the glass walls.  
  
A little water splashed over the edge onto the stone tiles as Buffy hefted herself out of the pool. She toweled herself off and dropped the towel to the side of a lounge chair, then lay down on the chair. Spike rolled the wheelchair over to her.  
  
"Have a good swim, Summers?" he asked, gazing down at her as she situated herself comfortably on the lounger.  
  
"Yeah," she replied, suddenly sitting up. "Is there sunscreen around here somewhere?"  
  
"Should be with the towels."  
  
She stood and padded barefoot over to the shelf where she'd retrieved her towel, plucking a bottle of sunscreen and another towel up. These she carried back toward the lounger, spreading the towel out atop the chair before she lay back down. She then uncapped the bottle of sunscreen and began to rub it into her skin.  
  
Spike's gaze followed her hands once more, this time as they traveled over her own flesh. He felt a stirring in his groin and looked away, attempting to will away a potentially embarrassing situation.  
  
"You have a beautiful home," Buffy said as she rubbed sunscreen into the flesh of her abdomen. "I didn't really picture you in a place like this."  
  
He chuckled. "What type of place did you have pictured for me then, luv?"  
  
"Um... more bachelor pad-ish and less gorgeous mansion-ish?" she admitted. "But hey, when you've only talked to someone a few times in passing over the course of five years without getting into a fistfight with them, I guess that's expected."  
  
"You only like me because of my house," Spike said in mock offense.  
  
"Well yeah. That and the salary that you're paying me."  
  
"Which is how much?" he asked.  
  
She glanced up at him, noticing that he was pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Hasn't been negotiated yet."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
"What the bloody 'ell is all this?" Spike asked Buffy as she opened the door of his bedroom.  
  
"A tilt table," she said, pointing at the object that looked much like a medieval implement of torture, "parallel bars, and a trapeze." She indicated the bar hanging from the ceiling above his bed with the last word. "For your therapy."  
  
"So that's why you wanted me to go to the pool with you?"  
  
"Partly. Also, I wanted you to get up out of bed for awhile. We won't be using the tilt table until the end of the week, but I had to get it here before then so I could have it set up. The trapeze is so you can move yourself around in bed easily, and we won't use the parallel bars until you've regained feeling in your legs." She pulled back the covers of the bed. "Hop in."  
  
Spike rolled toward the bed, and Buffy locked the wheels of the chair. He grasped the armrests firmly, lifting himself up, then heaved his weight toward the bed. The motion resulted with him lying face-down on the bed with his legs dangling off the edge. "A little help would be great right about now, Summers," he said, his voice muffled by the bedding.  
  
Buffy's hands found purchase on his right side, and she turned him over so he lay on his back. "I can tell that getting _out_ of the chair is going to be a little trickier for you than getting in." She took hold of his shorts by the bottom hem, tugging them off, then positioned the boxer-briefs clad man in the middle of the bed on his back. "Up for a little workout?" she asked.  
  
Spike shrugged. "Might as well, now that we 'ave all this nifty equipment."


	3. Memory and Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

Buffy sniffled, her eyes on the television. The protagonist female and antagonist male had just professed their doomed love, and were now fighting to the death.

"I can't believe you watch that drivel," Spike commented, wheeling into the room and settling next to her on the couch. "I mean, who believes in vampires, anyway?"

Buffy raised her hand, turning and glaring at him. "You don't have to watch if you don't want to," she said, her attention once again focused on the screen.

 _"I can't kill you,"_ the male lead said finally, facing the female lead in a fighting stance. _"It'd be like killing myself."_

A single tear slipped down Buffy's cheek. She wiped it away quickly.

"Luv, it's only television," Spike reminded her.

"It's sad," she mumbled self-consciously as another tear threatened to escape from her eye. She glanced over at Spike, who was looking at her slightly incredulously. "What? Imagine how you'd feel if you were an evil, soulless vampire that was in love with the one person sworn to kill you."

"Good thing bloodsuckers don't exist, then, innit? Because I'm upset enough as it is that my physical therapist is livin' in my home an' eatin' my food." He laughed gleefully, ducking as Buffy grabbed a throw pillow with one hand and swung it at his head. "Oi!" he shouted, proffering his own cushion. "You wouldn't beat on a crippled man, would you?"

Buffy grinned evilly. "Wanna bet?" she giggled, getting off the couch and holding the fluffy weapon above her head. "I'll give you a ten-second head start."

~*~*~*~*~

"How much feeling do you have in your legs now?" Buffy asked as she massaged Spike's shoulders.

There was no response for a moment, and when Buffy was about to poke Spike awake, he asked "... wha...?" lethargically. "Mmm... little to the left... only place I can't feel anythin' is," he groaned, "My feet... so 'm wonderin' why I still can't move my... gnoooh right there... legs."

"You realize that if you drool on your pillow, poor Gina is gonna have to wash all your sheets. Again," Buffy teased. "We'll work on getting you moving after your rubdown this morning."

"By all means, pet," Spike said, his body seeming to melt into the mattress below him, "Take as long as you want."

"Na-ah..." the blonde straddling his butt chided. "Therapy is more than bone-liquefying massages. There's a whole bunch of exercises we haven't tried yet." Her hands moved down his spine, finding a stiff place and pressing down, then smiling when it popped with a resounding crack.

"Been tryin' to get that kink out of my back for weeks..." Spike commented. "Thanks, luv."

"That's what I'm here for," she returned, pressing deeply into the muscles of his lower back. "Sheet's moving. Don't worry, though. I won't leave you lying here naked and helpless."

"When do I get another spongebath, speakin' of...?" the bleach-blonde hinted strongly. "I think I might be startin' to stink again."

"You got one last night," Buffy replied. "I think you just like my spongebaths because I'm less scary than the nurses you had in the hospital."

"Somethin' like that," Spike murmured, arching his hips into the bed as Buffy's hands massaged his backside.

"Hey," Buffy reprimanded. "No mattress-humping!"

"Nobody's humpin' anythin' around 'ere," Spike said. "Just tryin' to stretch a little bit, if you don't mind."

"That was definitely a _hump_ that I just saw, Mr. Broad..." she argued.

He turned his head as far as it would go, tucking his tongue between his teeth. "Trust me, Summers, if I were humpin', you'd know." He smirked cockily at her.

Buffy's face reddened. She cleared her throat. "Um... okay. Feel this?" she asked, lightly pinching the flesh on the back of his thigh.

"Oi! No pinching!" he commanded.

"Guess you feel that," she said. "How about this?" She poked him in the right calf.

"Told you already," he said. "The only part I don't feel is m' feet."

"Weird," she murmured, her hands working further down his legs. "Guess I'll have to work on them more." She bent one of his legs at the knee. "This might pull a little," she warned, stretching his Achilles' tendon.

Spike grunted in reply, as the tendon stretched slightly painfully.

Buffy repeated the motion with his other leg, then sat down on the mattress behind him and went to work on his feet. She pressed her thumbs into the high arch of his right foot, dragging the digits upward toward his toes, then back down to his heel. "Feel anything?" she asked.

"Pressure," he responded. "Not much else."

She manipulated each of his toes separately, wiggling them back and forth. _This little piggie went to market..._ she thought to herself. She sat back, removing her hands when she was finished, then stood up and walked over to the dresser.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, opening the middle drawer.

"Dark red," he replied.

Buffy plucked a dark red pair of briefs from the door, then shut it. "Roll over," she ordered, and a few moments later, she walked over to the bed again to face her nude patient. She worked the underwear onto him fairly easily, once again turning around while he made himself comfortable within the snug cotton, then turned back to him. "How's your chest?" she asked.

Spike raised his injured eyebrow. "I think you can tell for yourself," he commented.

The therapist's eyes flitted over firm pecs and chiseled abs, which had filled in remarkably quickly through therapy and wheelchair use, before settling back on her patient's face. "I _meant_ , do I need to massage it?"

He sighed overdramatically. "If you insist..." he said, his lower lip quivering as he attempted to hold back a chuckle.

"You're gonna have the best skin of any guy I know when I'm done with you," Buffy said. She uncapped the bottle of unscented lotion and squirted a bit into her hand. She rubbed her palms together vigorously. "Normally I don't massage the chest," she commented as her hands  
squeezed and relaxed against his pecs rhytmically.

"You're good at it," Spike complimented. "Don't suppose you could do it every mornin'?"

 _Wouldn't mind that at all._ "I'll think about it," she said, rubbing the pads of her thumbs just beneath the ridge of his pectoral muscles. "You ever wonder why we never used to get along?"

"All the time," he returned.

_[Five Years Ago, NYC]_

The party was in full-swing, formally-dressed guests milling about and socializing politely. A large banner proclaiming "Happy Birthday, Dawn" hung in the living room of the large penthouse.

In the kitchen, a blonde woman in a curve-hugging black cocktail dress sat at the island, elbows on the marble countertop as she massaged her temples slowly. The noise of the fifty partygoers nearby had given her a headache, and she was waiting for the Advil she'd just taken to kick in.

"Ahem."

She straightened, removing her elbows from the counter, and turned toward the doorway. "Can I help you?" she asked, her slightly bloodshot eyes taking in the stranger that stood before her. _Tasty_ , she decided, was the adjective that fit the brown-haired man.

"Absolutely," he replied, walking toward her and taking a seat at an empty stool. "What're you doin' sittin' in 'ere all by your lonesome, luv?"

"Why do you care?" Buffy spat with far more venom than she intended as her head continued to throb.

"Whoa... white flag 'ere." He held his hands up. "No need to bite my 'ead off for bein' curious."

"I'm sorry... I just have a headache." She placed her elbows onto the cool marble once again, resuming her temple massage.

"So, you come 'ere often?" he asked suddenly, pouring on the charm.

"I live here," she replied. "I'm the sister."

"You're the big sis?" He chuckled. "You're nothin' like 'er."

The blonde shrugged. "That's not what most people say..."

He cocked his head, gazing at her. "Dawn's sweet, an' graceful, an' happy. _You're not_."

She bristled. "Thank you for your evaluation of me, after knowing me for two minutes." She stood, straightening the folds of her dress, then looked heavenwards. "Why does Dawnie make friends with such pricks?" she mumbled, then lowered her head. She walked past him,  
turning and glaring at his brown curls before storming out the door and into the living room.

"Buffy!"

"What?" the blonde snapped, her head turning toward the person who called her name. "Oh, Dawnie, happy birthday..." she said, her tone softening.

The willowy brunette leaned toward her sister, whispering conspiratorially, "I found the perfect guy for you... he's in the kitchen."

"Dawnie, I'm really not in the best mood to meet 'the perfect guy'..." the blonde said, her headache returning with a vengeance.

Dawn latched onto her sister's arm with a strong hand, dragging her back toward the kitchen. "Come _on_... trust me, you  
don't want to pass this opportunity up. You haven't dated anyone since you broke up with Riley, and that was two years ago!" She determinedly marched into the kitchen, Buffy stumbling along behind her. "Here she is, Spike," Dawn announced loudly.

Buffy's eyes widened when she saw the brown-haired man she'd chewed out just moments ago.

"Buffy, this is William Broad. William, this is my sister Buffy," Dawn said, pushing her toward him with a stern, "Stop staring and go talk to him!"

"Dawn, I - " Buffy turned toward her sister, but she'd left the room again, closing the door behind her. "Oh, great," she complained. "I'm cursed."

_[Present Day, Sunnydale]_

"It was your fault," Buffy said, massaging his thigh.

Spike's eyes widened. "How the bloody 'ell was it _my_ fault?" he asked incredulously.

"You're the one who insulted me," she reasoned.

"And _you're_ the one who called me an arrogant prick!" he argued.

"You _are_ an arrogant prick, Spike."

"That's beside the point." He paused. "We're doin' it again."

"Doing what?" she asked as she prodded the muscular tissue above his knee.

"Bickerin'."

"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked. " _I_ never bicker. You're the one who bickers."

He scoffed, but then his expression became serious. "I'm not gettin' in an argument with you," he declared. "Leastwise, not when you're givin' me the best massage of my life." He sighed contentedly when her capable fingers kneaded his other thigh, and just barely kept his eyes from rolling back in his head from the sheer pleasure of the sensation.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy toed into one of her sneakers, then bent down to tie it.

"Goin' for a run?"

She looked up to see Spike sitting in her doorway. "Yeah," she said, tying the laces of the shoe securely. "Thought I might want to burn off some of those calories that Gina's meals are chock full of before dinner."

"Oh," he said, watching her as she did a few lunges.

She straightened, flipping over the strap of her black sports bra, which had gotten twisted when she'd put it on, then walked over to her dresser and picked up a hair tie, pulling her blonde tresses tightly away from her face. "Have any plans for tonight?" she asked.

"Can't say as I do, luv," he replied, motioning to his wheelchair. "Not much fun to go out when you can't do anythin'." He cleared his throat. "Want to take a stroll around the grounds when you get back?" he asked.

"You'll have to give me fifteen minutes to shower and change," she said as she walked toward the door, flipping off the light. He wheeled backwards to allow her passage. "But I haven't really explored the grounds completely yet. I'd love to," she said as she breezed down the hallway and out of sight.

Spike sighed, turning around and rolling slowly back toward his bedroom. He entered the room, closing the door and positioning his chair in a darkened corner. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply and closed his eyes, attempting to relax. _"Not bad..."_ , Buffy's voice filled his head unbidden. The image of her teeth sinking into a juicy strawberry flashed across his closed eyelids. She moved to wipe the tiny rivulet of juice away from her lips.

"Let me," he said, grasping her wrist lightly and pulling her hand away from her face. He tugged her toward him, leaning in and flicking his tongue against the sweet liquid. He licked and nibbled, taking in all the juice until all he could taste was the salt of her skin, exploding against his taste buds. Buffy's face turned slightly, so he was licking at her lips, and she opened her mouth a bit to allow the tip of his tongue access.

The kiss deepened, and Buffy crawled closer to him, raking her nails lightly down his chest and across his nipples. Spike tore his mouth away from hers, hissing in pleasure. His lips traveled across her cheek to her ear, and he took her lobe into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth before nipping and licking his way down to the curve of her throat.

"Oh, God..." Buffy moaned, straddling one of his thighs and undulating her hips against it. His hands caught the bottom hem of her shirt and dragged it upwards, and she pulled away from him long enough to raise her arms and take the garment off the rest of the way. He pulled her to him tightly, fingers caressing her smooth, bare back, and she gasped, her entire body giving a delicious little shudder as her nipples came in contact with his hard chest.

She slid up his leg toward him, and cried out when his mouth latched onto one of her nipples, sucking furiously. A hand came up, laving attention on the neglected breast, and his other hand dipped beneath the fabric of her exercise pants, caressing her.

"Want you," Spike ground out, groaning in pleasure when Buffy tugged away the sheets and her small hand encircled his aching cock. She pumped her hand lightly, her thumb brushing across the throbbing tip. "Unhh... love you..." He thrust into her fist and his exploring fingers sifted through the wiry curls at the apex of her thighs before dipping downward, encountering hot, soaked flesh.

Buffy hummed approvingly, her mouth once again searching for his as he thrust a long finger into her tight heat. "Please..." she whispered, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along his jawline.

"Spike's got you," he said reassuringly, his other hand pulling down the grey cotton pants she still wore. She lifted up, disengaging her legs from his long enough to kick the offending garment off, then straddled him again. She rubbed against him provocatively, and he clamped his hands onto her hips, stilling her before she caused him to climax.

She dragged her tongue from his Adam's apple to his ear. "Spike," she whispered. "Spike... Spike! God, are you dead in there?"

His eyes flew open, and he groaned, staring down at his protesting erection. "I'm fine, Summers," he rasped.

"You don't sound fine," she replied through the door. "Do you still want to go out? You've been in there for over an hour."

He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, just give me a minute." He heard her footsteps recede. _"... love you..."_   his words echoed. "Bugger."

~*~*~*~*~

"It's beautiful here," Buffy commented, flipping a stray strand of hair over her shoulder. She sat on a wooden bench that was seated on the cliff that overlooked the town. From above, Sunnydale was a very peaceful town. The pre-dusk sunlight framed her from behind, casting a long shadow.

"My favorite spot on the property," Spike agreed. "Used to come up 'ere all the time, before the accident."

Buffy glanced at him. "It's good that you're here now."

He pursed his lips. "Yeah. Let the healin' continue..."

They sat silently for a moment. "So what is there to do in a small town like this one?"

"Nothin'," he said. "But that's the point, innit? Gettin' away?"

"Yeah..." She watched a flock of birds as they flew by, all of them nesting in the same tree. "Dawnie's gonna call tomorrow. She said she'd call after a few days to see if you'd scared me off yet."

"What's the verdict, then?"

"I think..." she said, tucking a leg beneath her, "that I'll stay. I'd feel bad passing up the opportunity to get the best tan I've ever had, just because I didn't like my patient."

"Right," Spike said, a hint of hurt threaded through his tone. "If it makes you feel any better," _I love you._ "... I don't like you either."


	4. Dreaming Of...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

"This is," Buffy said, "quite possibly the best meal I've ever eaten. Can I kidnap Gina when I go home?"

"Not a chance, luv," Spike chuckled. "Gina stays 'ere." He took a bite of pasta, savoring its taste and chewing slowly, then took a sip of his drink. "You'll just 'ave to set up a practice in Sunnydale, I guess."

"And lose all my pro sports clients?" she asked, incredulous. "Yeah, like that will happen. I'm staying put in NYC."

He sighed inwardly, but grinned. "Then Sunnydale'll 'ave to be your vacation spot," he suggested. "Sandy beaches, beautiful weather..." he said tantalizingly. "You'll 'ave the best tan in the practice."

"It does sound tempting..." she said, "... but what about Acapulco?"

"Acapulco?" he asked.

"Every year, Dawnie and I rent a beach house for a month in Acapulco. It's kind of tradition, you know? Four glorious weeks of tanning on a private beach, where we don't have to worry about tan lines..." she trailed off, sipping her water.

 _She's trying to kill me,_ Spike decided. _By the end of her second month, I will be dead._ "Sounds great," he mumbled, playing with the remainder of his meal. "Hmm," he muttered as the beginnings of an itch tingled on his left calf. He unconsciously lifted his leg and scratched at the tingling area, then lowered his leg again.

"Spike..." Buffy said, gaping at him.

"Yeah?" he asked, returning his attention to his meal.

"You just moved your leg."

~*~*~*~

"Are you coming or not?" Buffy asked impatiently.

 _Wish I were,_ his inner monologue supplied as Spike spoke up. "Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on, Summers, I'm comin'." He rolled out of his bedroom, shutting the door, then moved fairly quickly to the elevator. "I don't see why you're so wound up about this," he commented when they were riding down the elevator. "It's just a movie."

Buffy glared at him. "Look, buddy, _you're_ the one who suggested it. We got the movie, and I want to see it."

"But do we have to watch it right _now_?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like you have something better to do," she responded as she flounced over to the entertainment system, popping the DVD into the player. "Now sit down, shut up, and let me watch my movie."

He maneuvered onto the couch relatively easily, sitting back and resting his left arm along the backrest. She plopped down on the other side, pressing 'play' on the remote. The opening credits began to roll, and throughout the duration of the film, her eyes were glued to the screen, capturing every detail of the film.

"Next time I choose the movie," Buffy said dully at the end, her mind hazy with depression.

"You liked it though," Spike insisted.

"Yeah, it was great. Television addiction, mental illness, nasty-ass track marks, and, hey! Even some gratuitous lesbian sex! What's not to love?" she said sarcastically, putting _Requiem for a Dream_ back in its case. "It's a beautifully-made movie, but I think that it needs a warning label."

"Something like, 'don't watch this unless your therapist tells you that you can handle it'?" Spike suggested, hoisting himself back into the wheelchair.

"Perfect," Buffy replied. "Ready for a session?"

"Um, luv," he said, gesturing to his wheelchair and the room, "Not to state the obvious, but shouldn't we be in my room for a session?"

Probably," she conceded. "Let's go."

They moved back into the elevator, taking it up to the second floor. "Think I can move my leg again?" he asked as they approached his  
closed bedroom door.

"Don't know," Buffy said. "But I'm aiming to find out, even if it kills us both."

"That's comforting."

~*~*~*~

_[Three Years Ago, NYC]_

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Buffy grumbled, straightening her dress. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and slipped into her shoes, turning toward Dawn, who was putting on her earrings.

Dawn smiled amiably at her sister. "The Summers sisters have been single for too long," she said, applying a bit of lip gloss. "Besides, it's not like you're not setting me up with someone too..."

"Yeah, but Carlos is a great guy. I trust my taste in men." Buffy touched up her eye makeup.

"And my taste is completely different than yours," Dawn said dryly. "Buffy, we've liked the same type of guy for as long as I can  
remember. Besides, Spike is a complete sweetie."

"You're setting me up with a guy named _Spike_? Does he have a sister named Nail?"

The brunette stuck her tongue out at her sister. "Trust me, you'll love him."

The doorbell rang and Buffy and Dawn put the finishing touches on their makeup, then hurried toward the front door. Buffy opened it. "Carlos! Hi!" she exclaimed, hugging her friend. She stepped back. "You look great," she said. She turned to Dawn. "Dawn, this is Carlos. Carlos, this is my sister, Dawn."

"Nice to meet you," Dawn said shyly. She extended her hand and he took it, lifting it to his lips and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

"Likewise," Carlos murmured.

Dawn blushed. "So, Buffy tells me you're an architect," she said.

A knock sounded at the door. Buffy stood. "You guys keep talking," she said, walking over to the door and opening it. Her jaw dropped and she slammed it shut once more. "Jehovah's Witnesses," the blonde explained to her sister. Moments later the doorbell rang. Buffy looked out the peephole, then sighed. She opened the door. "Welcome to our humble abode," she said without enthusiasm. "Won't you - "

"Thanks for the warm greetin', luv," Spike said, brushing past her into the penthouse, a fistful of flowers in his grip.

" - come in?" she finished. " _Dawn!_ " she called loudly.

The brunette rushed to her sister's side. "What's wrong, Buffy? Hey, Spike, good to see you," she greeted, kissing him on the cheek. "Spike, this is Buffy. She's your date."

"Kitchen," Buffy said tightly, grabbing her sister's arm. "Now." The blonde dragged Dawn through the penthouse quickly, letting her go when they'd reached the kitchen. "Want to tell me what _he_ is doing here?"

"I - "

"And don't try to tell me that you don't know what I'm talking about. You tried to set me up with him two years ago at your party." She folded her arms, waiting for her sister's answer.

"And I'm pretty sure you would've hit it off if you hadn't been PMSing," Dawn retorted. "He's a great guy, just give him a chance."

Buffy shook her head. "No. No, there will be no chance-giving of any kind. I'm staying home, have fun."

"Buffy, please?" Dawn begged. "Carlos and I are really hitting it off, but I want you to come with us. Please?"

"No." She opened the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, and took a swig.

Dawn raised an eyebrow. "You never drink," she commented.

"I'm trying to get drunk so you'll leave me alone," Buffy replied.

"Oh, no." Dawn snatched the bottle from her sister's hand. "You are going on this date. I don't care if I have to break your legs and tie you up in the car, you are _coming_."

"You reminded me of mom just now."

"Thanks," Dawn said, putting the bottle down on the countertop and pulling her Binaca from her clutch. "Open," she said.

Buffy opened her mouth at her sister's command, receiving a mouthful of powerful breath spray. "Great," she said. "Masking the taste of alcohol with alcohol."

"Now, you are going to go back into the living room, and you are going to do the smalltalk thing with Spike, and then we are going on this date and you," Dawn said, dragging Buffy back through the penthouse, "are going to have a _lovely_ time."

"Fine," Buffy grumbled, eyeing Spike.

_[Present Day, Sunnydale]_

"Turned out to be a pretty good date, all things considered," Spike said, grunting as he pushed his foot against her hand.

"And the movie was good, unlike movies that _some_ people rent..." Buffy teased.

Spike rolled his eyes. "You liked _Requiem for a Dream_ , don't bother lyin'."

"Now that I'm mostly out of the depressed haze it left me in, yeah. It's a good movie." She picked up his other leg after placing the one she'd been working with back on the bedspread. "Push."

Beads of sweat popped up on Spike's forehead as he moved his leg against her palm. He relaxed a few seconds later.

"Great," Buffy commented. "We'll have you standing in no time."

"When do we get to use the bars?" Spike asked.

Buffy thought for a moment. "If you keep progressing at the rate you are now, I'd say next week sometime."

Spike smiled happily as she rotated his ankle. "So I'll be climbin' within months," he said wistfully, thinking of the mountains.

"One step at a time," Buffy said, rotating his other ankle. "First walking, then climbing."

"Yeah. But a bloke can 'ope, can't 'e?"

"Sometimes hope is all you have," Buffy said. "I remember this one patient I had. Professional racecar driver, got in a bad accident. I had to be the one to break it to him that he would never walk, let alone drive, again."

"Must be 'ard," he commented. "Tellin' folks that kind of thing."

"Luckily for you," she said, putting his foot down, "I didn't have to tell you any such thing."

~*~*~*~

The smell of lavender permeated the air around the pool room. Buffy sighed happily, sinking down into the hot tub a little further and allowing the jets of water to loosen her muscles. The voice of Josh Groban filtered through speakers hidden by large plants, washing over her. She sang along, slightly off-key, then dipped her head beneath the surface of the hot tub. She popped up, wiping water from her eyes and leaning back.

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" Spike asked from behind her. "I enjoyed your singing."

Startled, Buffy frantically reached for her bikini top, putting it on and fixing the clasp. "Nope, not interrupting," she said finally. "And thanks, but I like his voice better," she said, indicating the music that still played. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothin', thanks. I was just bored."

"You're not gonna make me watch another depressing movie, are you?" she asked.

"Nope. Just wonderin' if you'd like me to order a pizza for dinner." He paused. "Were you naked in there?" _Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes..._

"What makes you think that?" Buffy queried. "I was only topless."

 _That works too..._ "I was curious, is all," he said enigmatically. "So, pizza? Our other options are Thai or Indian."

"You seem set on pizza. Order away."

"What do you like?"

"Extra cheese and veggies," she said.

He made a face. "Vegetable pizza? Blech. Meat's the only way to go."

Buffy stood, climbing from the hot tub and wrapping a towel around herself. "So order half-and-half," she suggested, wringing out her hair.

"Yeah," he replied. "Good point."

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at the dining room table, munching on slices of pizza and drinking sodas. "So I was wonderin'..."

Buffy waited for him to finish his thought, but he didn't. "Wondering what?" she asked between bites.

"Nothin'," he hedged.

"No, you can tell me."

"It's not important," he insisted. "Never mind."

"You sure?" Buffy's expression changed from one of curiosity to one of concern.

He was silent for a moment. "Yeah," he finally said. "Yeah, it's nothin'."

Her brow furrowed, but she said nothing. "Dawnie said she might come out to visit sometime," she said after a few moments.

Spike smiled. "I'd like to see 'er. When's that Carlos bloke gonna do right by 'er, anyway?" he asked.

"They've set a date for September," Buffy replied. "Now Dawn wants me to go dress shopping with her. I think she wants to get both of our gowns out of the way at the same time."

"Both of your gowns?"

"Yeah. Maid of Honor." She frowned. "I guess that means I get the most work next to her and the wedding planner..."

An image of Buffy walking down the aisle of a magnificently-decorated church, dressed in a frothy white gown, flashed through his mind. He smiled dreamily.

"What are you so happy about all of a sudden?"

"Jus' thinkin' about the fact that I'll be able to dance with 'er at 'er weddin'," he lied. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a sip of soda.

"That'll be great," Buffy replied. "She'd love that."

~*~*~*~

Buffy stretched, yawning loudly. "I'm tired," she said blearily. "Think I'll head off to bed."

"G'nite then," Spike offered, remaining seated on the couch in front of the television.

She walked up the stairs slowly, shuffling down the hall and into her room, where she immediately pulled her tank top over her head. She dropped her shorts on her way over to the bed, then crawled beneath the covers. She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, and finally settled on her side with one arm beneath her pillow and the other grazing her stomach.

The latch of her door clicked and she sat upright, clutching the sheets to her naked breasts. Spike was silhouetted in the light from the hallway. He closed her door behind him, approaching the bed.

"Spike, what - " she began.

He cut her off by placing two gentle fingers against her lips. "Shh," he said, as he eased onto her bed and lowered his mouth to hers. One slightly calloused hand came up and cupped her cheek while he kissed her, his mouth exploring hers gently.

Buffy was too surprised to move for a moment, then she eagerly responded to his kiss, lips and tongue dancing with his. His tongue slipped between her parted lips, brushing against hers before swirling around it. Her hands came up, clutching at his shoulders and allowing the sheet to fall away. She let out a breathy little moan and fell back onto the pillows again as his other hand trailed across her shoulderblade and down, dancing over the flesh of her breast before enveloping it. His thumb brushed against her nipple and she gasped.

"Feel so good," he murmured, his lips leaving hers for a moment to trail down her throat, sucking on her pulse points. He moved atop her, and her thighs opened in response, allowing him to fall between.

"More," she whispered as his mouth trailed hotly downwards, teeth and tongue worrying sensitive flesh as he progressed. He dipped his tongue into her navel, sending spears of pleasure shooting through her as his mouth mimicked a deeper, more intimate penetration. She threaded her fingers through his hair as Spike's mouth traveled over her pelvic bone, his fingers dragging the sheet further down.

And then his lips and tongue were _there_ and she gasped, her eyes open but unseeing as white-heat spiraled up and down her spine. Her entire body began to tremble as if electrocuted. "Spike... I can't... I..." she cried, breaking off as she tensed up. A high-pitched, sobbing moan tore through her mere seconds later as she exploded in her climax.

Spike quickly crawled back up her body, situating himself between her legs. The head of his cock prodded her as his hips twitched, and he locked his eyes on hers, waiting for her permission. She nodded silently at her and he sank blissfully into her, his eyes rolling back and a heavy shudder vibrating his entire frame. He panted with exertion as he regained control of his senses. Resting on his elbows, he tilted his head and looked at her.

"What?" she half-moaned as he gave a shallow little thrust.

"Wake up," he whispered, his lips close to her ear. His hips began moving against hers, his thrusts deeper this time, but still unhurried. "Wake up," he said again, louder this time. "Wake up, Summers!"

"What are you talking..." she asked, trailing off as he vanished. She blinked, looking around. "... about?" she finished, noting her surroundings. She lay on the couch in the lounge, Spike sitting before her in his wheelchair.

"Finally," he said. "Little sis is on the phone."


	5. Waking Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

"Wait, you've seen him naked _how many_ times, now?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Dawnie... doesn't matter. Patient-therapist relationship, remember?"

"But he's a hottie!" Dawn insisted on the other end. "How many times?" she asked again.

"Like... twenty," Buffy admitted. "And _yes_ , you incredibly nosy person, he _is_..."

"Big?" Dawn squealed. Buffy could practically see her bouncing with excitement in her seat in NYC. "Is he, is he?"

"How much caffeine has Carlos been letting you have?" the blonde asked suspiciously, stretching and standing from her place on the couch.

"I always wanted to see you two together," Dawn hinted.

"Gee, really? Because I didn't notice, what with you pushing us together at every opportunity," she snarked. "And besides, I've dated..."

"Who, Riley? Blech," Dawn spat. "He was about the most boring guy I've ever met in my life. All 'and on the farm we do this, and sometimes I like to milk my cows'... Plus, he always called me 'kid'."

"So?"

"Buffy, I was _twenty-three_."

"... you may have a point," the blonde conceded. "Listen, I've got to go. The patient just came in."

Spike glanced at her, then returned to his perusal of the CD collection.

Buffy hung up just as the first strains of 'Just Got Wicked' by Cold began to play through hidden speakers in the room.

"What's with the scary rock?" she asked, an eyebrow quirked.

He shrugged, sitting back and listening to the music.

"Okay..." She stood up, hanging up the phone.

~*~*~*~

 _[Three Years Ago, NYC]_  
  
Buffy awoke and stretched, noticing immediately that the sheets rasped against her skin. It'd been a very long time since she'd slept naked, but she was willing to reason that with the amount of alcohol she'd ingested after the movie the night before, she'd stripped and been to lazy to find her pajamas.

She rolled over and her eyes widened as she came face-to-face with a handsome male face, scant inches from her own. _Oh my God_ , she thought as she took in the sleeping countenance of Spike. He was obviously nude, the blankets riding low on his back and bunched just above the crests of his buttocks. "Oh God, oh God..." she mumbled, rolling back onto her back. She wasn't in her own room. "Oh God..."

Images of hot, sweaty bodies writhing together beneath the same sheets that covered her now flashed through her mind. She heard herself cry out, saw him as he ground his head back into the pillows, his eyes tightly shut and his lips parted. She sat up, climbing from the bed and scurrying around the room looking for her underwear. She found her bra dangling by one strap from the corner of his dresser and put it on, then glanced around, spotting her panties on the opposite side of the room.

Once she'd found and donned the rest of her outfit, including her slightly wrinkled dress, she paused to look at Spike once more and left the room, pangs of guilt overwhelming her.

A few minutes later, Spike stirred, reaching for her, but his hand only met empty air and the mattress. He flipped over onto his back, blinking rapidly, and sat up. There was no evidence she'd ever been in his room, and he was almost ready to deem the entire night a gloriously hot dream when his eyes lit upon the indented pillow on the other side of the bed. He fell backwards, his head hitting the pillow and his arms thumping against the mattress on his sides.

Three weeks later, after having ignored his phone calls and flowers, Buffy heard from Dawn that Spike was planning to move to California.

 _[Modern Day, Sunnydale]_  
  
Guilt thrummed through her as she remembered that morning, but she quickly shook it off, her eyes focusing once more on the tropical fish tank in front of her. She wrapped her arms about herself as she admired the fish.

The stereo abruptly turned off, starting Buffy out of her reverie. She turned toward the lounge, facing Spike as he exited. "You done getting angry?" she asked.

"Wasn't gettin' angry," he replied. "It calms me."

She shook her head in amusement, then turned back to the fish, sighing quietly.

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked.

"Just remembering..." she said, her eyes following an angelfish as it swam through the cool water.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Care to share, luv?" he asked. When she was silent, he continued. "C'mon, tell uncle Spike..."

"I never apologized, did I?" she queried, her gaze leaving the tank and falling on him.

"For..."

"That night. When Dawnie set us up, and we got drunk..." She trailed off. "I'm sorry."

"Why apologize now?" he wondered aloud.

She shrugged. "You know, the guilt thing... bad for your complexion."

His eyes widened with realization, and he smiled wickedly. "You still want me," he purred.

"Not likely," she retorted.

He chuckled. "You can tell me the truth, I promise I won't bite..."

Buffy turned to face him fully, placing her hands on her hips. "Oh yes, please Spike, impale me on your glistening love wand," she said in full monotone. She rolled her eyes and left him sitting in the hallway, his mouth agape.

~*~*~*~*~

"I want to go for a swim," Spike announced, entering the pool room, where Buffy sat in the hot tub. "Help me in?"

"Sure, but it might be interesting to get you back out."

"Pfft," he scoffed. "You'll just 'ave to manhandle me, luv."

Buffy stepped from the hot tub, and Spike took the opportunity to appreciate the way rivulets of water streamed off her body. He shook his head, his gaze returning to the pool.

"Let's get you in there," she said, her arms threading beneath his armpits and lifting him from the chair. She managed to drag him to the edge of the pool, his legs helping minimally, but when her heels hit the slightly raised stonework that ran along the swimming pool's perimeter, she lost her balance.

His arms tightened around her and he held on for dear life as time seemed to slow down. "Bloody 'ell!" he complained, taking a deep breath just before they toppled into the pool.

The two bottle-blondes fell into the water with a large splash, sending waves up over the sides. They sank quickly, and the water stung their eyes. Buffy looked wildly around, but with her grip on Spike, she couldn't move. She opened her mouth, and a flood of the chlorinated fluid entered her lungs, filling them.

Spike panicked, wrapping one arm tightly around her. Using his other arm, he propelled them upward with powerful strokes, and they soon reached the surface. He gasped for air, and Buffy choked, coughing violently. Her back heaved and shuddered beneath his forearm as he pulled them toward the side of the pool.

He heaved her upwards, and she landed heavily on the stone floor, still coughing. She turned quite suddenly and vomited, most of the rank substance landing directly on Spike.

"Bloody 'ell!" he exclaimed, ducking beneath the water to rinse himself off.

"What happened?" Gina asked, running in. She noticed Spike as he returned to the surface a few feet away from the edge. The middle-aged housekeeper took one look at Buffy, who was curled in a fetal position on the floor, and ran to the towel cabinet. She returned to the trembling blonde woman, wrapping her in a large towel and helping her to her feet.

"Gina," Spike called as she led Buffy from the room.

"Yes?"

"Get someone to help me out," he requested, drifting toward a corner of the pool.

"Yes sir," she replied.

~*~*~*~*~

The wheels squeaked as Spike rolled into the lounge, a tray on his lap. His hair was wet from a shower. "Brought you some tea," he said softly, holding a mug out to Buffy. She was curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair, now slightly damp, hung about her still-pale face as she reached out with a shaking hand and took the tea from him.

"Thanks," she said raspily, sipping the hot drink.

They sat silently for awhile.

"So," he said suddenly. "I've decided to keep out of the pool until I can get in an' out m'self. You know, to keep from drownin' you."

"Yeah," she replied, staring at her tea. "Sorry I puked on you..."

He smiled tentatively at her. "Nothin' a shower couldn't get out," he replied. "Sorry I nearly killed you."

"But you saved me too..." she half-whispered.

"It'd be hard to find another therapist who could keep up with me," he joked gruffly.

"Thank you," she said, sipping her tea again.

"Buffy - " he said suddenly. The undertones in his voice caused her to turn her gaze to him.

She studied him quietly.

"Nothin," he finally said.

She looked back at her tea.

"No, it's somethin," he decided aloud. "I really feel..." He cut off, then rolled closer to the couch, cradling her face with one hand and dropping a nearly chaste kiss on her lips.

He pulled back just as suddenly as he'd kissed her. Her eyes were wide, and he opened his mouth to apologize. She brought her hand up, shushing him with two fingers across his lips. "What was that for?" she asked.

Spike shrugged. "Maybe because I regretted not huntin' you down after that night three years ago," he replied, "an' doin' that."

"Oh," she replied, her eyes once again on the contents of her mug.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike's torso shifted as he tried to make himself comfortable on his bed. He took a deep breath, snuggling into the pillow as he exhaled.

"Mmm..." Buffy mumbled from next to him. "Can't sleep?"

He turned to face her, wrapping his arms about her. "No..." he murmured, burying his face in the crook of her throat. His lips ghosted over the sweet-smelling flesh he encountered there.

"You know, I hear the best cure for insomnia is - " she cut off as his mouth connected with hers, plucking at her lips. As his tongue flicked across her slightly parted lips, the fingers of his left hand trailed down her side, tracing each rib, then darting down into her navel, before reaching their destination.

His palm pressed into the small of her back, bringing her hips closer to his own. His lips left hers, trailing across her cheek to her  
earlobe as he arched his hips into hers.

Buffy's right hand traced down his spine, her left arm curling around his head and her fingers lacing through his hair. "I want you," she whispered.

"Want you too," he replied. He gazed at her, his blue eyes locking on her hazel ones. Nimble fingers wrapped about his cock, stroking it, and he moaned, his eyes rolling back.

Buffy brought the tip of him in contact with her dewy folds, draping her right leg over his hips. He teased her for a moment before thrusting inside with one slow, smooth motion. His eyes were on hers as he entered her, watching the play of emotions that flitted through them. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then opened them again.

"Perfect," Buffy breathed as he tentatively moved within her. "You fit me... perfectly..."

He groaned harshly in agreement, pressing his forehead to hers as his hips twitched.

He rolled to his back, taking her with him and getting a firm grip on her hips. He then began raising and lowering her slowly. She soon caught the rhythm, and one of his hands ceased its guiding motions, reaching up and fondling a pert breast that hung enticingly before him. His thumb brushed across its hard crest and she gasped, her mouth falling open and her eyelids fluttering shut.

"Spike," she gasped, clutching his shoulders as he surged within her.

His throat worked spasmodically as her inner muscles squeezed him. "Oh God, Buffy..." he groaned.

Her eyes opened, staring near-blindly into his as her hips undulated against hers. "Spike, I'm..." she broke off on a moan.

"I know," he replied. "Let go, luv..."

She tensed, falling forward into his arms as her entire body spasmed, his name on her lips. Two more pumps of his hips and he followed her into orgasm, groaning and fusing his mouth to hers.

"I love you," Buffy gasped softly, nuzzling into his sweat-slick chest. She kissed one of his pecs, then snuggled against him.

"Love you too..." he murmured, his fingers trailing up and down her back.

They both fell into a deep slumber.

The next morning, Spike awoke alone. His sheets were uncomfortable, and when he sat up, glancing down, he noticed a discolored area over his groin. "Bloody 'ell," he groaned, falling back and squeezing his eyes shut. "This 'as _got_ to end."


	6. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

_Two Weeks into Therapy_

"Okay, when I tell you to, I want you to push against my hand," Buffy instructed, holding Spike's right foot.

Spike attempted to flex the muscles in his thigh that would propel his leg forward. There was no movement. "Well _this_ works well," he commented. "I did it yesterday." He glared at his leg when it refused to obey him.

"Try again," she prodded.

Again, nothing.

"Hmm. Maybe tomorrow," she said, lowering his leg and lifting the left one. "Sometimes it seems like you're going backwards, but it's because your muscles are tired. Push." This time the pressure was strong, propelling her backwards slightly. She looked at Spike's face and saw that beads of sweat had popped up on his forehead in his exertion. "Relax," she said again.

"Must be left-legged," Spike commented, his tightly contracted leg muscles releasing.

"Yeah..." Buffy said as she placed his leg back onto the sheets. "You up for some more, or do you want your rubdown now?"

"Few more tries with the other leg wouldn't 'urt," he said.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Yeah. Go for it."

She shrugged. "Okay..." she said as she hefted his right leg once more, cradling his calf in one palm and cupping the arch of his foot in the other hand. "Push..."

~*~*~*~

"Grraaahh!" Spike roared as his right calf seized up, waking him. He grasped the trapeze bar overhead and pulled himself up until he was sitting in bed, and then, gritting his teeth against the pain, shifted himself over into the wheelchair, which he quickly rolled towards his door. He yanked the door open and propelled the chair down the hall, stopping outside Buffy's closed door.

He fisted his left hand and began to pound on the door, continuing until she yanked it open. She stood before him in a white camisole and panties, and if he'd been in less pain, he could've fully appreciated the view. "What's wrong?" she asked blearily. Spike gritted his teeth and pointed at his calf, not speaking. "Oh, god..." she mumbled, immediately falling to her knees in front of him and beginning to massage the fist-sized lump in his calf.

The wheelchair-bound man clenched his jaw, waiting for the pain to dissipate as Buffy continued to rub the cramped muscle. It slowly began to relax, and he sighed heavily. "Sorry I woke you," he said quietly, staring down at her while she worked.

"It's no problem," she replied, her hands still moving up and down his calf. Two more deep strokes into the muscle and the cramp was gone, and she looked up... directly at his naked groin. "Jeez!" she exclaimed, falling backwards on her butt. "Again with the nudity!"

"Sorry, luv," he chuckled. "Habit. Can't sleep in clothes."

Buffy rolled her eyes, standing. "All better?" she asked, forcing her gaze not to travel lower than his chest. _Nice chest..._ her inner monologue admitted. _No... Patients aren't attractive. Well, maybe this one patient... No, wait..._

"Yeah. Thanks, luv." He turned the wheelchair, preparing to leave.

"Spike?"

"Hmm?" he asked, halting the chair.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Summers."

~*~*~*~*~

"Alright, Spike," Buffy encouraged, "You can do this."

"I bloody well can't," he argued, eyeing the parallel bars skeptically.

"You can rest all your weight on your arms if you want. That's what the bars are for. But," she huffed, "hurry up and make up your mind. You're getting heavy." She shifted her arms around his back slightly, redistributing his weight.

"I can't," he said again.

"Spike, if you grab hold of those bars right now, I swear I won't bug you for the rest of the day," Buffy promised.

Spike's arms slowly extended, his hands wrapping around the bars tightly. He locked his elbows and Buffy eased her arms away from his body. "I'm standin'."

"Yeah, you are." His knees buckled, and Buffy's arms immediately wrapped tightly around him. "Whoa there..." she soothed. "I've got you. The wheelchair is right behind you, if you need to sit down."

"Yeah, probably not a bad idea, luv," Spike responded, looking down at the top of her head. She lowered him to the chair, then rotated her shoulders and stretched the muscles of her arms out, wincing slightly. Spike noticed the small grimace and offered, "Want me to  
massage that shoulder for you, Summers?"

"You don't have to - " she protested.

"I want to." His expression was firm as he rolled backwards to give her room to get out of the bars. "C'mere," he coaxed.

Buffy sighed in resignation. "How do we do this?"

"Have a seat," he said, indicating his lap.

"Um..."

"I promise I won't bite," he chuckled. "Sit."

Buffy sat on his shorts-clad knees, and he immediately began to prod the flesh of her shoulder, pressing deeply into the muscle tissue. She hissed in pain as his hands reached the tender spot on her arm.

"Relax," he said, his breath fanning across the back of her neck, causing the fine hairs there to stand on end. "Spike's got you."

A tingle shot down her spine, and she stood suddenly. "Yeah, thanks. It's a lot better now," she said, stepping back. "I guess I'll leave you alone now." She turned toward the door.

Spike's hands dropped down to his lap. He cleared his throat. "Erm... luv... Buffy, I don't mind so much."

At the sound of her name, she halted and turned around. "Don't mind what?" she asked.

"You know... you hangin' about. I don't mind. Truth be told, it gets sort of... lonely 'ere." He looked up at her, his blue eyes mesmerizing.

Buffy tore her gaze from his, looking at a spot on the wall just above his head. "I was just gonna go downstairs and see if I could beat your PlayStation, but if you want..." she trailed off, her hands gesturing in the air.

"I could kick your ass at PlayStation, Summers," Spike declared, an evil glint in his eyes.

"Oh, really?" she asked, a perfectly-shaped eyebrow rising. "I'll have you know that I've beaten almost every guy I know."

He rolled over to his dresser, opening a drawer and pulling out a shirt, which he placed in his lap, then closed the drawer again. The threadbare tee with the Manchester United insignia printed across the front tousled his hair as he yanked it over his head. "Race you," he laughed, wheeling quickly out the door and down the hall. He stopped at the elevator, jabbing the button with his thumb, then rolled into the car, riding it down to the first floor. He got out of the elevator and made a sharp left into the lounge.

Buffy arrived just seconds later, slightly out of breath from sprinting. "You could've at least held the elevator," she complained. "Meanie." She walked over to where he was sitting, by the cabinet that held all his video games. "Let's play this one," she said, plucking an auto-racing game from the shelf.

Ten minutes later, Buffy exclaimed, "Hey! No fair!" as Spike's car cut her off, sending hers careening into a barricade.

He chuckled, steering the car through a few more obstacles. Buffy's car sped up behind his, and he now began swerving in an attempt to keep her from passing him. The track branched off ahead, a dirt road going off to the right, and Buffy veered onto it, speeding up to the highest that the car could go without flying sideways off the gravel. She squinted in concentration, speeding up just a little more as a jump appeared. The car flew over the jump, landing on the track just ahead of Spike's.

"Oi!" he shouted, braking slightly as she sped onward.

"Told you I was good at this," she said smugly as her red racecar crossed the finish line just before Spike's black one did. She jumped up and did a little victory dance, pumping her arm in the air. "That's seven guys who can't beat me." She sat back down in the easy chair. "Wanna play again?" she asked, grinning widely at him.

He was silent, gazing openly at her.

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You're beautiful when you're happy," he murmured, his eyes on her mouth.

Buffy stood up and began to pace. "Not good," she said. "This goes against the doctor-patient ethics. Just because you're gorgeous and you think I'm..."

"Beautiful," he finished for her.

"Yeah, that, but it doesn't mean we can act on it. You're my patient, and it's just... _wrong_ , and..."

Spike's hand shot out and grabbed her forearm, yanking her to him. He cupped the back of her head in his other hand, pulling her mouth toward his. "Shut up, Buffy," he murmured huskily, right before his lips claimed hers.

Their first kiss was gentle, lips tasting and caressing tentatively. They pulled apart, gazing into each other's eyes, before their heads dipped inward again for a second taste. Spike sucked Buffy's lower lip into his mouth, his tongue running back and forth over it, and she responded by opening her own mouth and allowing his tongue access. She climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs in the wheelchair, then wrapped her arms about his neck.

The moment that their tongues touched, they began a passionate battle for dominance, thrusting and parrying in the warm caverns of their mouths. Buffy's hands traveled down to his chest, bunching the soft fabric of his shirt as one of Spike's hands snaked underneath her tank top and caressed the skin just beneath her right breast, then his fingers enclosed the soft mound of flesh.

They both moaned low in their throats at the contact, deepening the kiss. Lack of oxygen soon made them light-headed and they pulled apart for a moment, resting their foreheads against one another as they gasped for breath.

"Bloody 'ell," Spike whispered reverently, dragging a stray lock of hair away from Buffy's face with a shaking hand.

"Yeah," Buffy replied, burying her face in the crook of his neck as she attempted to regain organized thought. He kissed her earlobe and a delicious little shiver ran through her. "Stop that," she said weakly.

"Stop what, luv?" Spike asked as he sucked her lobe into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

The tips of Buffy's fingers trailed up across his neck. "Stop making me want to drag you upstairs and jump into bed with you."

"Why?" he half-moaned as his hard cock twitched from the imagery.

"Because it's wrong...?" she feebly argued, attempting to extricate herself from his embrace. She stood up, finally. "I'm hungry, do you want something?" she asked, attempting to change the subject.

"I'm fine," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed as she walked out of the room and toward the kitchen. She padded on bare feet into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a pint of red raspberries that she'd asked Gina to purchase. She opened the plastic container and popped a few of the fruits into her mouth.

The telephone rang as she chewed. "Casa de Spike, what can I do ya for?" she answered.

There was a small pause, and then a polite female voice addressed her. "May I speak with William, please?"

"Sure. Hold on a sec." Buffy held her palm against the mouthpiece and shouted, "Spike! Phone!"

She was greeted with silence for a moment, and then Spike's voice echoed back to her. "I got it in 'ere! You can hang up now!"

Buffy pressed the 'talk' button on the cordless phone, setting it down on the counter. She ate a few more of the raspberries, then put the container back into the refrigerator and got herself a bottle of water, hopping up onto a barstool and unscrewing the cap. After taking a few absent sips, she closed the bottle and left the kitchen, going back upstairs to her room. She set the water down on her dresser, then shed her clothing and pulled on her bikini. She went back downstairs, preparing to do a few laps in the swimming pool. She walked into the pool room and was poised to dive in when Spike's voice stopped her.

"That was Dru," he said. "She's comin' out to visit."

"Oh," Buffy responded, diving under the water, if only to avoid having to think of a response. She came up eventually and began to tread water. "When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Neat," she said, taking a deep breath and allowing herself to sink to the bottom of the pool. She stared up, the water causing the glass room to appear as if it were the set of a surrealist film. Her lungs began to ache and she popped up to the surface again, inhaling the fresh air. "Guess you two will want some alone time then," she commented, shifting her weight so she floated on her back.

"Probably."

"I'll just... give you your morning session and then go to LA I guess."

Spike made a consenting hand-gesture. "You need a car?" he asked. "Go ahead an' take one of mine."

"Thanks." She dove beneath the surface of the water again, kicking furiously until she reached the wall at the shallow end. "Spike? What say we forget about what just happened in there?" she suggested, cocking her head toward the lounge.

"Yeah... if that's what you want."

"I just think it would be better... you know?"

"Yeah."

~*~*~*~

Drusilla Chapin strolled up the walkway at 8:30 AM, expensive sunglasses firmly planted on her nose. She rang the doorbell and then stepped back, folding her slender arms across her chest.

"Ah, Miss Chapin. So nice to see you again," Gina greeted kindly.

he brunette handed her coat to Gina. "Likewise, I'm sure," she said dryly. "Where is William?"

"He should be in his room, I think," the older woman responded.

"Thank you, Gina. That will be all."

Gina nodded and watched as Drusilla walked purposefully toward the staircase, then sighed and carried away her coat.

The figure skater made her way down the hall, planning on waking her lover. She opened the door and quickly slunk inside the room.

"Buffy?" Spike asked blearily, hearing the door close.

"It's me, my pet," Drusilla purred, climbing onto the bed and straddling Spike's waist. "Did you miss your princess?"

"Dru?"

"Who else?" the brunette asked, nipping lightly at his jawline. "Do you have some time to play before the nasty therapist comes?"

"Yeah, pet. I do."

~*~*~*~

Buffy walked down the hall, carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods. She stopped at the door at the end of the hallway, turning the doorknob and swinging the door open. "Spike, wake up. I brought you some break - " she stopped speaking abruptly as she noticed the scene before her. Spike was very much awake, passionately kissing a petite brunette whose hands were roving all over his chest.

Spike broke away from Drusilla, inhaling shakily. He noticed Buffy standing frozen in the doorway, staring at them, and he spoke. "Buffy?"

"I'll just... come back later..." she mumbled, turning to leave.

"No, no it's fine," he insisted. "Dru, playtime's over..."

The brunette got off Spike and straightened her clothing, then turned to the blonde woman that still stood in the doorway. "Ah, you must be the therapist," she said. "Look, William, she brought us breakfast." She motioned for Buffy to come forward. "Well, don't just stand there," she snapped. "Bring it here."

"Yeah. Sorry," Buffy said, carrying the tray into the room. She set it down on the nightstand, clearing her throat. "Tell you what. Why don't we skip your therapy for the day?"

"An excellent idea," Drusilla commented, looking at Spike hungrily. "Run along now."

"Alright. I'll just go... go." Spike didn't get a chance to protest as the blonde woman left the room, then hurried to her own room and changed from her exercise clothes into a pair of dark blue flares and a white halter top. On her feet she wore black leather boots, and she slipped a pair of sunglasses onto the top of her head before grabbing a short leather coat and her handbag. She then walked stiffly down the stairs, straight into the kitchen. "No therapy session today," she said to Gina. "I need the keys to Spike's fastest car."

Minutes later a red convertible roared out of the garage and down the drive, the tires squealing as it turned onto the main road. Buffy unzipped her purse with one hand and pulled out a cell phone. She dialed and then held it up to her ear.

"Hey, Faith?" she said above the noise of the wind that whipped through the car. "You're still in LA, right? Wanna do something today?" There was a pause as she listened to the voice on the other end. "I'm on my way to the city... yes, right now... great. I'll be there in two hours."


	7. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

"Man, that Priscilla chick sounds like a total bitch," Faith called from the bathroom, where she was putting the finishing touches on her makeup for that evening.

" _Dru_ silla," Buffy corrected. "And yeah, she's all holier-than-thou. It's really weird seeing Spike with someone that dominating.

"Bet you'd like to dominate him, B..." The brunette said slyly, emerging from the bathroom.

"What? I... no, of course not!"

Faith raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I've seen the guy on ESPN, hon. He's a hottie. If I didn't have Wesley... Let's just say I'd show up at his doorstep and beg him to let me ride him at a gallop until he _popped_ like warm champagne."

"Hello to the imagery," Buffy said. "Very nice."

"You're picturing yourself doing it, aintcha?" Faith teased.

"Yeah," she admitted. "The look on his face when he..."

"You've _done_ him?!" Faith was taken aback. "How was he?"

"It was three years ago," Buffy replied. "And we were both pretty drunk that night. I left before he woke up."

"Yeah, but how _was he_?"

"I don't remember much, but..." she hedged.

Faith folded her arms across her chest. "Stop avoiding the question. You screwed the hottest guy in professional sports. Let me live vicariously."

"He was the best I've had," Buffy finally said. "Ever."

"That's quite the admission. So why are you in Los Angeles instead of kicking the Ice Queen's ass?"

"Because he loves her and not me," she replied. "I screwed things up the first time, I know, and now I might not get another chance with him."

"B, you're depressing me," Faith said. "Let's go clubbing."

~*~*~*~

"My Spike..." Drusilla called quietly, poking his naked shoulder. "Wake up, Mummy needs to speak with you..."

He grumbled and rolled over onto his side, his eyelids fluttering. "Go 'way," he slurred tiredly.

"Wake up," the brunette said again, more sharply this time.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching up with his left hand and blearily rubbing his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think this is working for me anymore," she said. "When you could move your legs, you were so much more fun."

His eyes popped open. "What are you sayin', pet?"

"I've met someone," she replied. "I can't be with you anymore."

His mouth dropped open in shock, his eyes becoming steely and ice-cold. "Get out," he said quietly.

"I was hoping that we could have a little fun... you know, one last time?"

"Get. Out."

She uncurled her naked form and slipped from beneath the sheets, plucking her clothing off the floor and stepping into it. "So sad," she purred wickedly. "You could've had me one last time. But I guess now you can run off to your little _Buffy_ and have her lick your - "

"You don't talk about Buffy," he said harshly. "Get the bloody 'ell out of my house."

She slipped into her shoes. "Goodbye, my Spike," she said.

"I'm not _your_ anything, you bint. Get out." He pointed toward the door. "Now."

She slipped through the door and closed it softly.

"Graaaah!" he screamed, picking up an empty water glass and pitching it at the door. It shattered upon impact.

He rolled back onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling.

~*~*~*~

The throbbing beat of a dance remixed pop song surrounded Buffy and Faith as they entered the club. Hundreds of gyrating bodies were packed onto the dance floor.

"Let's dance!" Faith called over the cacophony of the club.

"I need a drink first," Buffy replied, heading for the bar.

Three shots later, she was ready to bust a move. She and Faith pushed their way toward the center of the dance floor, immediately attracting attention. Buffy's miniskirt threatened to ride up every time she moved her hips, and Faith's halter top wasn't providing much coverage. Strong male hands trailed down the blonde's sides, and she attempted to turn to face him. He halted her movements and she shrugged, then continued rotating her hips suggestively. Her arms raised above her head, moving behind her and wrapping about his neck.

"Damn, B!" Faith shouted. "Way to reel in the hot-tay!"

Buffy flashed a brilliant smile, continuing to dance with the stranger. His hips ground into her ass as he pressed his chest tightly against her back. One of his hands pressed against her stomach, firmly travelling downward, and the other cupped her hip.

She leaned back into him, but he stepped away and she stumbled. "Whoa," she said, finding her balance. "That was..."

"Jonathan," Faith finished.

"No way," Buffy said, her eyes widening at the thought of dancing with the television star.

"He's right over there," the brunette replied, pointing in the direction of the bar. "Shorter than I thought he'd be."

Buffy looked over and saw him dancing with another female patron, much in the manner that he'd danced with her. "I think I need another drink," she said. "Want something? I'm buying."

"Yeah," Faith replied.

~*~*~*~

"Where is she?" Spike asked testily, rolling back and forth in the hallway in the wheelchair. "I'm not payin' 'er to take m'cars out an' not come back."

The front door opened and closed. "Where were you?" Spike demanded, entering the foyer.

Buffy winced at the volume of his voice. "Not so loud," she pleaded. "Hangover."

"You drove my _vintage Mustang_ with a _hangover_?! Sorry," he said, noticing her cringe once more. He softened his tone slightly. "But that was _bloody_ stupid, Buffy. You could've at least called, or stayed somewhere until you felt better."

"I'm sorry," she half-whined. "But Faith and I went to a club, and then Wesley came home, and the sound of them going at it kept me awake half the night. And then she didn't have any painkillers for the next morning. I just wanted to get your car home and crawl into bed, and not come out until next year."

He rolled his eyes. "If you damaged my car..." he threatened.

"It's _fine_ ," she said, wincing again when she emphasized 'fine'. "It's back in the garage, all gassed up."

"I'm sorry I shouted," he said. "I was just wor - "

"Where's Drusilla?" Buffy asked suddenly.

Spike gritted his teeth. "Dru an' I are no longer together," he ground out.

"Oh," Buffy replied. "I'm sorry. I know you loved her."

"Yeah..." he trailed off. "Well, off you go. 'M expectin' a session later this afternoon."

"Only if you have Tylenol," she said. "I'm gonna need it."

~*~*~*~

The parallel bars creaked slightly as Spike rested his weight on them. "I feel like a soddin' gymnast," he grumbled. His pecs and biceps rippled beneath his sweat-soaked skin as he shifted slightly.

"You're doing great," Buffy said encouragingly. "You've been up for almost a minute now. Need to rest yet?"

"What I _need_ ," he replied, "is to walk again." The muscles of his thigh contracted and he lifted his foot slightly, then shifted it forward and rested it back onto the floor. His eyes widened. "Cor..."

"You walked," Buffy gasped. "That's great!"

He attempted the same movement with his other leg, and soon he was standing close to a foot away from where he'd been standing previously. "I can walk," he said, grinning hugely at her.

Buffy smiled back, shuffling backward and glancing up at him. His eyes were focused on her face. His left hand gripped the bar tighter, and he slowly shifted his weight to his left arm, then reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "Thank you," he whispered.

The sexual tension in the room was nearly palpable, and Buffy attempted to alleviate it. "Told you I could get you to walk again," she said. "How about we get you back onto your bed so I can give you a rubdown."

He nodded. She hurried over to the nightstand, plucking a dry towel from it and then returning to Spike. She patted his skin dry, then wrapped her arms around his back. Their combined efforts soon had him on his stomach in the middle of his bed, waiting for his massage. Buffy grabbed the bottom hem of his nylon shorts and tugged them off him, and he flipped onto his stomach while she tossed the sweaty garment in his clothes hamper.

The lotion bottle protested loudly as Buffy squirted the last few drops into her palm. "Dammit," she groaned. "I'm all out of the unscented kind."

"What else do you have?" Spike asked.

"The only other lotion I have is peach-scented," she replied.

"There is _no_ way that I'm gonna traipse around smellin' like an orchard in Georgia," he protested.

"Guess I'll have to make a little go a long way then," she said, wiping most of the lotion onto the back of his neck.

He cringed. "Oi! That's cold!" he complained.

"Baby," she teased. "It'll warm up." She took a tiny bit of lotion and rubbed it into his shoulders, then began to massage. "You're getting all muscley," she commented.

"Mmm," he grunted. "Dru didn't like that, 's I recall."

 _What is she, stupid?_ Buffy thought. "That's too bad," she said.

"So you 'ad fun last night, I'm guessin'?"

"Yeah..." she replied. "Went clubbing. Danced with Jonathan. Got drunk."

"Jonathan? As in the poofter in that daytime soap, what's it called...?"

" _Blue Horizons_ , yeah," Buffy said.

Spike scoffed. "You don't _fancy_ the bloke, do you? 'E couldn't act 'is way out of a wet paper bag."

"But he's a great dancer," she said slightly dreamily. She shook out of her reverie. "No, I don't ' _fancy_ him'," she said in a horrible rendition of his accent. "We just danced. And he's short."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure..."

A knowing smile spread on her face. "You're jealous," she realized aloud.

"What? No," he denied quickly. "Why would I be jealous?"

"I don't know... why would you?" Buffy slid her moist hands down his spine.

"Luv, 'snot polite to answer a question with a question..." he trailed off and groaned as her capable fingers worked at a small knot that had formed on his lower back the previous day, due to lack of massage.

One of her fingertips dipped into the lotion that still coated his neck, and she worked it into the tender spot carefully. "Maybe you're not," she replied. "Maybe this thing with Drusilla is still too fresh, and you're still..."

"She didn't love me," he interjected. "I was the hot new athlete, so she used me and discarded me like all the others. I knew what I was gettin' into when I started seein' 'er."

"Oh," Buffy said softly. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," he murmured. "Never loved 'er either. She was just convenient, y'know?"

Sarcasm laced her tone. "Well gee, Mister Broad, that sure makes you look like a great person." Her fingers slid lower, manipulating his buttocks and upper thighs slowly.

He turned his head, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "She was a replacement... for someone I couldn't 'ave."

~*~*~*~

A low-pitched, dull thump awakened Buffy. She blinked a few times, and when a creaking sound filtered through her closed door, she rolled out of bed, pulling on a pair of soft, loose-fitting cotton drawstring pants and padded barefoot out into the hallway. The creaking came to her again, obviously emanating from Spike's room. She tugged on the hem of her light green camisole, then opened the door a crack. "Spike?" she asked, peering in. Her eyes widened when she saw him standing, nude, between the parallel bars, nearly three and a half feet from his wheelchair.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Playin' soccer," he replid sarcastically, lifting his right foot and shifting it forward.

She quirked an eyebrow. "Naked?"

"Yeah, well... I was considerin' becomin' a nudist. Not much sense wearin' pants if I never go anywhere." He grinned at her, then stepped forward with his left foot.

Buffy ducked beneath one of the bars, coming up between them and facing him. "Think you can stand without the bars?"

"I'll try anythin' once," he said, shifting his weight on his feet and then slowly releasing the bars. His knees locked and, though he swayed a bit at first, he stood fairly steadily.

Buffy's gaze locked on his pecs, and Spike noticed. He reached out with his left hand, tucking a finger beneath her chin, then lifting it. His eyes were on hers as his mouth inched toward hers. He moved slowly enough to allow her to pull away if she wished, but there seemed to be a magnetic pull between their lips, because Buffy found her own mouth gravitating toward his as well.

Wrapping one arm about her hips, he pulled her close, and his lips descended onto hers. Their eyelids fluttered closed as they kissed softly, both of them tasting a hint of the fire that lay just beneath the gentle contact of mouth to mouth.

 


	8. Near-Misses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

Buffy gasped quietly into Spike's mouth as his lips played over hers. She felt him sway from side to side a bit on his weakened legs and guided him slowly backwards, her lips never leaving his. Within a short moment, they lay on his bed, hands and mouths exploring, stoking the embers of want in both of them.

Buffy sat up, straddling Spike as she grasped the hem of her white chemise and pulled it over her head. Her breasts bobbed slightly with the motion. One of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck and pulled her head down to hers once more while the other snaked between them to roll a hard nipple between nimble fingers.

"Spike," she moaned as his mouth trailed fiery-hot kisses down her throat and across her collarbone. "I want you..."

"Mmm," he agreed, nibbling on the crook of her neck. "Want you too."

Seconds later he groaned loudly as her small, warm hand wrapped around his hard cock. He panted aloud, his eyes rolling back from the feel of her skin against him, and bit his lip to regain control of himself. His left hand dipped beneath the fabric of her cotton pants, cupping her ass firmly, then curled around her hip and dipped downward between her legs.

She was dripping.

He removed his hand from her pants, tugging on the waistband. "Off," he demanded.

Her eyes locked on his as she stood up next to the bed and untied the drawstring, then pushed the pants down over her hips. They fell silently to the floor. His gaze traveled hotly over her, and hers over him, as they openly admired each other.

Heartbeats raced as she approached him, climbing back onto the bed. She straddled him again, her fingers lacing through his and pinning his arms to the bed. A Cheshire-cat grin spread on her face as she shifted her hips subtly, her slippery-wet folds coming in contact with the head of his cock.

"See," Buffy said, her teeth and tongue nipping up and down his throat, "if I hadn't left you three years ago, we wouldn't be doing this now." Her lips searched for his own, but he turned his head, her words dousing his arousal like a bucket of ice water.

He turned back to her slowly. His eyes, which had moments ago been smoldering with arousal, were cold and filled with pain. "I don't think we should do this," he said hoarsely. His cock began to soften.

She pulled back. "What are you talking about?"

"If we do this now, you'll be halfway back to New York by mornin'." He took a deep breath. "An' I don't want that."

Buffy scrambled backwards off him. "Oh... God..." she mumbled. A surge of fresh guilt tore through her. She reached desperately for her cotton pants, pulling them on and yanking her chemise over her head. One hand came up, her fingertips resting on kiss-swollen lips. "I'm sorry," she whispered, dashing from the room.

He lay in bed for a long time, in the same position he'd been in when she'd left the room. Then he grabbed a pillow, placed it firmly over his face, and screamed.

~*~*~*~

Spike sat at the table when Buffy shuffled into the kitchen, stretching and yawning. "Mornin', luv," he greeted, his eyes on the newspaper.

"Good morning," she replied. She headed straight for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, adding plenty of sugar. "Sleep well?"

He glanced up. "I'd be lyin' if I said I did."

Buffy took a deep swallow of her coffee, relishing the caffeine as it rushed down her throat. "Me too." She took another sip. "Listen, about last night..."

"It's in the past, luv," he said, the paper rustling as he turned the page. "Don't worry 'bout it."

"Okay." They sat in slightly uncomfortable silence, he reading his paper, she drinking her coffee. "I'm going to start you on crutches today," Buffy said quietly.

"That's good," he replied. "Is every conversation of ours gonna be this borin' and guarded from now on?"

"Probably for awhile," she guessed. "Fresh tension here."

He rolled his eyes. "Pet, we were steeped in tension before. What makes this any different?"

"Because I feel guilty. And you were right."

"About what?"

"I probably would've been halfway back to New York this morning," she said. "Remember how I told you about Angel?"

Spike nodded.

"I left out a part." She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "A few days after, I ran into him again. We got to talking, and he casually mentioned that I was the worst lay he'd ever had."

His jaw dropped, but he didn't say anything.

"That, of course, made me completely depressed. But that wasn't the end of my bad history with guys. My freshman year of college, I met Parker. He seemed nice enough, and we hung out a few times, and then one night we slept together. That's where a pattern began to emerge. He was gone the next morning too. I found myself a nice, normal guy to date, only problem was he bored me out of my mind. So when _he_ left to go do some top-secret military stuff, I was prepared for it. That brings us to the night three years ago." She took a deep breath. "I decided that I wasn't going to let another man leave. So I left instead."

"Cor, luv, I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"Not your fault," she replied. "And there's nothing I can do about it now, so I don't let it bother me anymore." She took another sip of her cooling coffee. "Man, does it feel good to finally say all of that to someone."

He offered a small smile, his attention once again falling on the newspaper.

~*~*~*~

Forearm crutches and Spike didn't get along.

Here he was, lying on his carpet for the fifth or sixth time since he'd gripped the rubber handles and attempted to step forward. He was breathing hard, gritting his teeth and attempting to get back on his feet.

He was slightly irritated.

So when Buffy reached down and offered to help him stand, he snapped at her. "Bugger off," he growled. "I can do this m'self, God dammit."

She stepped back immediately, hands in the air. "Okay, okay," she said soothingly. "Go for it. I'll just..." she glanced around the room, her eyes lighting on an easy chair, "... sit."

She kept a wary eye trained on Spike as he reached up and grabbed one of his bedposts in a sweaty hand, his palm sliding around on the highly-polished wood a bit as he pulled himself to his feet slowly. He looked down and glared at the crutches, wishing he had enough mobility to put on his steel-toed Doc Martens and stomp all over the offensive things.

One hand remained on the bedpost as he leaned down and picked up the crutches, setting them against the foot of his bed. He sagged onto his mattress, wiping his palms on his shorts. "I'm goin' to wait," he said, "for five minutes. An' if I can't do it then, those crutches are leavin' this house. I'll learn to walk on the bars."

"Those crutches will offer you a lot more mobility than the bars could," Buffy reminded him.

He turned an angry glare on her. "I will install railings throughout my entire house," he ground out, "if that's what I have to do."

"Have it your way," she said, shrugging.

His jaw tightened. "I will, thanks." His eyes lit on the crutches again. "Sod it, I'm gonna give it another go now."

Moments later he lay on the floor again. "Graaaah!"

~*~*~*~

"Alright, Spike, you can do this..." he mumbled to himself as he stood slowly. He clutched the bedpost for a moment, his eyes on his destination. One step. Two. His hand was still on the bedpost, but he let it go, dropping it to his side. Concentrated. Funny, walking hadn't seemed this hard the first time he learned. Thigh muscles contracted as his leg lifted and he shifted his weight forward slightly on his still-planted foot. The other foot landed solidly several inches away.

Another step. This one was a bit shaky, and he wondered when his right leg had become so much weaker than his left. His brow began to dampen slightly as he pressed forward, coming ever closer to his goal. Strong step. Weaker step. Strong step. The weaker steps became more confident and powerful, the further he walked. Faster now - pacing across the room. Almost there.

He reached out with his left hand and wrapped his fingers around the cool metal of the doorknob. Success.

"Maybe just a little bit further..." he said confidently, wiping sweat from his face with his free hand as he leaned against the door. He took a little breather, then turned his wrist and opened the door. Stepped out into the hallway.

It looked like it would be about twenty paces to the elevator. _I can make it,_ he thought.

If anyone had seen him shuffling down the hallway, they would've had an immediate flashback to the little engine struggling up the  
mountain in _Dumbo_ , as he whispered "I think I can, I think I can," over and over to himself. He was getting close now.

He found himself standing before the elevator. Triumphantly, he pressed the button. The doors opened, he stepped inside and rode down, breathing hard.

He could hear the powerful french-horn based theme from _Gladiator_ playing in the lounge. Sharp left turn out of the elevator and into the lounge.

"Yeah!" Buffy exclaimed. "Get him! Ouch..." she winced in sympathy.

"Enjoyin' the movie?" he asked, leaning in the doorway.

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. "Jeez, Spike! I didn't hear you come in. Did you put WD-40 on your wheel - " she turned around, her eyes widening. " - chair...? What the hell?"

"You're the therapist," he said smugly. "What's it look like?"

She stood up. "It looks like you used the crutches and hid them somewhere," she said. She slipped by him, looking around in the hallway. "Okay, where'd you put them?" she demanded when she'd re-entered the room and reclaimed her seat on the couch.

"Where I left them when they didn't agree with me," he replied.

She quirked an eyebrow. "You're telling me you _walked by yourself_ all the way down here?"

"With the 'elp of the elevator," he said. He hadn't changed his position since he'd first spoken.

"I don't believe you."

He rolled his eyes, pushing off the doorframe with his shoulder. Stretched his arms a bit, then started out toward her. He walked right in front of her and plopped down on the couch. "Oh, just in time for the good part," he commented as he watched Russell Crowe battle the undefeated gladiator whose showy fighting included three chained tigers. "Gotta love some gratuitous violence."  
  
She gaped at him.

Glancing over at her, he smirked. "What?" he asked, his attention immediately re-focussed on the fight scene.  
  
"You..." she said.  
  
"I... what?" he prodded. "I... 'ave some food stuck between m'teeth? I... look dead sexy in this tee-shirt?" He ran a hand seductively over the medium-blue fabric at his second statement. "I... can walk?"  
  
She opened her mouth to reply, but was struck speechless once again and her jaw snapped shut.  
  
He chuckled, continuing to watch the climactic end sequences of the movie.  
  
"So I guess you won't be needing much therapy anymore then," she said.  
  
He detected a hint of sadness in her tone, but couldn't be sure whether it was directed toward him or the characters onscreen. "M'right leg is still a bit weak," he admitted quietly. "I was hopin' you could 'elp me with that."  
  
She took awhile to respond. "Yeah," she said. "Sure."  
  
"Good."  
  
_Am I not merciful?!_  
  
Buffy shuddered. "God, he creeps me out. He's all with the sallow, and the... intense..." she shuddered again.  
  
"Met 'im once," Spike offered. "When I was with..." he tilted his head. "Nevermind." He stole a bit of the popcorn that she'd put onto the couch next to her when she'd stood up. "Nothin' like stale popcorn," he said as he watched the rightful emperor and the man who'd stolen his place battle in the Colosseum fight to the death.  
  
They sat in silence for a minute, as the film ended.  
  
_He was a soldier of Rome... honor him._  
  
A few moments later, the end credits rolled. "Nothing like a guy movie with a powerful ending," Buffy said.  
  
"How is that a guy movie?" Spike asked.  
  
"Spike, there are two major battles, and five other fight scenes. It's a guy movie."  
  
"So what you're sayin' is - "  
  
"I only watched it because Russell Crowe is hot."  
  
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Noticing her reach for a cushion, he warned, "Don't try anythin'. I may not be able to sprint the 100 yet, but I can fight back now."  
  
"Oh yeah?" she asked mischievously, her grip tightening around the corner of the cushion.  
  
"Yeah," he said, deflecting her blow as she attempted to thwack him in the head. He grabbed his own cushion and soon they were both laughing raucously, pillows flying through the air.


	9. One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

The sound of splashing caught Buffy's attention as she walked down the hallway. She made an abrupt turn, stepping into the pool room. Her eyes immediately fell on Spike, who was doing laps. The lean muscles in his arms moved fluidly as he propelled himself forward. He turned and swam back toward Buffy, coming to a stop at the edge of the pool. "Hello, luv," he greeted. "Thought I'd work on gettin' my arm strength back."

"Spike, your arms are stronger now than they were before your accident. I think you'll be all set." She walked over the warm stone tiles and settled in a folding lounger, kicking off her sandals and curling her feet up beneath her. "Unless you plan on carrying stuff up the mountains, that is."

"Look, pet, I was the best. Now some scrawny kid from Colorado has m'title, an' I want it back."

She rolled her eyes. "He's just keeping your seat warm," she said. "You don't have anything to worry about."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," he said as he grasped the edge of the pool hard. He lifted himself out of the water using only his arms and abdominal muscles, then flipped himself around and sat with his feet in the pool. "It's nice in there today," he said. "An' if you go for a swim, I promise I won't try to drown you." He rolled backwards onto his knees and stood slowly. "Pool's all yours," he said. "I've got some things to take care of."

~*~*~*~

The Mustang roared to life as the garage doors opened.

"God, I missed this," Spike half-moaned, shifting the vintage convertible into gear and driving outside. He glared at the radio, which was currently playing some proto-pop song by a cloned singer, and quickly punched a button, sighing happily as his hard rock preset station blared from the speakers. He stopped at the bottom of the driveway, then squealed out into the open road, speeding toward town. Not even the flashing blue lights behind him were enough to kill his mood. He pulled over, humming happily along to the radio.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?" the officer asked.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "I'd assume it was because I was goin' eighty in a thirty-five, mate," he said. "License an' registration, right?" He removed his wallet from his pocket and pulled out his license, then opened the glove box and fished out the registration slip. These he handed to the policeman.

"You're the mountain climber, right?"

Spike nodded. "So you gonna give me a ticket or what?"

"Actually..." the policeman said. "My son is a big fan of yours. If you could just sign an autograph for him, I could let you off with a warning."

"Much obliged, mate," he said. "You got a pen an' some paper?"

"Sure." The man in blue hurried back to his cruiser, retrieving a notepad. He pulled a pen from his breast pocket and ran back to the Mustang. "Here you go," he said.

"What's your son's name?" Spike asked.

"Ryan," the officer replied.

With a flourish, Spike signed the notepad, handing the pen and paper back to the policeman.

The policeman looked at Spike sternly. "Now don't do it again," he chastised, handing the license and registration back to Spike. There was a definite spring in his step as he walked back to his patrol car and turned the lights off.

With an astonished expression on his face, Spike pulled out into traffic once more. He shook his head. "Cops," he muttered. He continued en route to his first destination of the day.

Within a few minutes he'd pulled up in front of a well-known flower shop. He strolled in, a slight limp still marring his step, and approached the owner. She looked at him appreciatively for a moment, taking in his crisp, white shirt that was partly covered by a short black leather coat, and the way his black pants fit him. When he spoke, she appeared to go weak in the knees for a moment. "Hello, luv," he said. "I'd like to buy some roses."

With shaking hands, the florist bade him to follow her toward their cooler. "What kind of roses do you need?" she asked. "We have some beautiful yellow ones, and we just got a shipment of red and cream today, fresh from the grower."

Spike's eyes wandered over the various types of flowers in the cooler before his eyes settled on the bucket of short-stemmed cream colored roses. "A dozen... no, wait, two dozen of those," he requested. "An' your most beautiful red rose."

"Would you like me to arrange them in a vase?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just put the red one in a water pick. The others don't matter quite so much." He walked over to their display of candles. "You know where I can get twenty of these?" he asked, holding up a fat, white pillar candle.

"We get them from the candlemaker's shop on Palm," she said as she wrapped the roses.

"When do they close?" he asked, checking his watch. It was close to five.

"Five-thirty, sir," the florist said nervously. "That'll be $36.97," she said, ringing up the amount on the cash register.

Spike pulled out his wallet and handed her his credit card. After he'd signed the bill, he walked toward the exit. "Palm, right?" he asked.

"That's right," the florist said.

He tossed the roses on the passenger seat, then swung around the car to the driver's side, climbing in and starting the engine. He nearly began purring along with the Mustang. A glance in the rearview mirror revealed that he was grinning like a besotten fool. _Gotta tone down the smile a bit,_ he thought. _Don't want everyone in town t'know what 'm up to._

The drive to the candle shop on Palm was short, and as he noticed the sun's descent, he nearly sprinted into the store. The aroma of scented candles nearly overwhelmed him for a moment, but he shook it off and marched up to the counter.

"I need twenty unscented white candles," he requested. "The fat ones."

The shopkeeper looked up at his imposing presence and immediately headed for the back room, returning moments later with a sealed box. "There are twenty in here," he said. "Bulk price is four-fifty apiece."

He thought $90 was a bit steep for candles, but when he thought of Buffy naked in his bed, glowing in the candlelight, he decided they were worth every penny. His eyes were still slightly glazed as he reached for his wallet once again.

He signed the receipt and hefted the box under one arm, walking from the store. "Thanks, mate," he called as he set the box on the floor of the passenger's side. He opened his cell phone as he got into the Mustang. "'Lo, Gina? Listen, I'm on my way back up. Can you distract Buffy for a bit? Thanks. See you soon."

Despite the noise of the engine upon his return to his home, Spike managed to make it up to his bedroom unnoticed by Buffy. He took off his leather jacket and hung it in his closet, then unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up. He made short work of the tape on the top of the candle box, set the contents around the room and stuck a lighter on his dresser where he could reach it quickly later.

Next, he unwrapped the roses and started plucking the petals off the cream-white ones, scattering them about the room. The red one he laid gently on the bed. When he'd distributed the rose petals, he left his bedroom carrying the red rose.

He took the elevator down to the first floor and entered the kitchen, where Gina and Buffy were taste-testing Gina's latest culinary masterpiece. Both women looked up and smiled, and Spike hid the rose behind his back, beckoning to Buffy.

"Go," Gina said, shoving her toward her suitor.

The blonde woman walked shyly toward Spike. "Hey."

"Hey," Spike returned. "Got somethin' for you." He smiled softly at her, producing the rose from behind his back.

Buffy's eyes widened as she looked at the rose. "It's beautiful," she murmured, taking it from him and inhaling the fresh scent. Her gaze left the flower and landed on his. "Thank you," she said.

"I could say somethin' poetic like 'a rose for a rose' but you already know you're beautiful," he said, his smile growing larger.

"But I don't mind hearing it," Buffy replied.

"Then I'll 'ave to tell you at every opportunity," he declared. He looked past her to Gina, who was trying desperately to look like she hadn't been eavesdropping. "Gina, when will dinner be ready?" he asked.

"About fifteen minutes," the middle-aged woman replied.

Spike leaned down to Buffy's ear and murmured, "That gives us time to talk for a bit." He took her free hand and led her from the kitchen into the lounge.

"Have a seat," he said, making himself comfortable on the couch. Buffy sat primly on the other end, her hands in her lap. She'd set the rose on the armrest, glancing at it every once in awhile. He gazed at her for a moment, taking in her tanned, bare legs, barely covered by her light pink slip dress, her shining, golden locks of hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and the slightly nervous expression on her face.

"I thought we were going to talk," Buffy said suddenly, turning to face him. She was struck speechless by the expression on his face.

"Changed my mind," he replied, edging closer to her. He wrapped the fingers of his left hand loosely around one of her wrists and pulled her toward him. "Come 'ere," he beseeched.

She landed stiffly on his chest, her ear pressed over his heart. His index finger slipped under her chin, nudging her face up. "Don't ever be nervous around me. I'd never 'urt you, Buffy." He dropped a feather-light kiss on her lips. "I missed the way your lips taste," he murmured, his breath tickling her cheek. His mouth returned to hers with the slightest increase in pressure and he sipped at her lips languidly, his hands at his sides so that she could pull away if she wished.

Instead she leaned into his kiss, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. She bunched the fabric of his shirt slightly beneath her fingers, sighing into his mouth as his fingers trailed up her spine. The tip of his tongue slipped out of his mouth, running along the seam of her lips and she parted them slightly, allowing him to taste her.

One of his hands trailed around her, his fingertips tracing her ribcage, before coming to rest on a pert breast. His thumb flicked over her cloth-covered nipple rhythmically as he kneaded the soft mound gently.

Their mouths parted for a moment and they panted for air. Buffy gasped when Spike nipped and sucked his way down her throat, latching onto a pulse point and flicking it with his tongue. "Want you," she moaned softly.

He grunted in agreement. "Not 'ere," he rasped. "Come on." He stood shakily and took her hand in his, leading her quickly to the elevator. Once inside, he promptly pinned her to the wall and kissed her demandingly, his tongue plunging into her willing mouth. The doors opened far too soon for their liking and he tore his mouth from hers, and they hurried toward the closed door at the end of the hallway. He kissed her once more. "Wait 'ere," he said.

He slipped into the room, fumbling with the lighter for a bit before he got it to spark, then went around the room lighting all the candles. Satisfied with the candles' appearance, he opened the door wide and pulled Buffy inside. He stepped behind her, closing and locking the door, and then lifted her hair, kissing the nape of her neck.

"You planned this," she accused, smiling. A delicious tingle shot down her spine when his lips landed on her shoulder.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I did." He turned her around to face him, then wrapped his arms about her waist and fused their mouths together once more. She arched her hips up into him, causing a strangled groan to escape his lips as his cock twitched. "God, you're killin' me 'ere..."

Spike walked them backwards toward the bed, stopping when the backs of her knees hit the mattress. He reached down and grasped the hem of her dress, whisking it over her head. It floated airily for a moment before silently coming to rest on the carpet. He gazed down at her for a moment, clad in pink lace. "Cor," he whispered harshly. "So beautiful..."

"One of us..." Buffy swallowed hard before continuing, "...is overdressed."

"Yeah," he agreed. "You." His nimble fingers set to work on the clasp of her bra, and he grinned triumphantly when he'd released it, tugging it gently away from her. Her breasts spilled free, and he dipped his head down, his mouth latching onto one pebbled nipple. His tongue bathed the puckered flesh as he sucked it, and she moaned low in her throat.

"Spike..." she gasped, her fingers threading through his hair.

"Mm?" He continued to lavish attention on her breasts. His left hand slipped down her abdomen and into her panties, encountering her wet, hot flesh immediately. His hard cock jumped and he groaned again, clamping down his control.

He tugged her panties down past her knees and she stepped out of them, backing up slightly and sitting on the bed. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it down his arms, then released the fly of his pants. Her eyes widened as she realized he'd gone commando. He kicked his shoes off, allowing his pants to fall to the floor.

Buffy crooked one finger at him and he had to restrain himself from leaping at her and pounding her into the mattress. He knelt on the bed before her. His eyes rolled back as she traced the veins of his cock with a fingertip. "Buffy," he gasped. She took her hand away, pulling him down to lie between her thighs. His hips jerked a bit, causing his cock to rub against her slick folds, and her hands trailed down his back, her legs wrapping around his waist.

"Please, Spike," she whispered. His eyes locked on hers as he dipped his hips forward and entered her slowly. The feel of her nearly sent him over the edge and a heavy shudder racked his body.

"Don't move," he pleaded. "Just stay still for a bit."

Buffy bit her lip, willing her body to remain unmoving. After a few near-painful moments, he pulled his hips back and then thrust forward again, tentatively. "Oh my God," he breathed, slowly finding a rhythm. He thrust deeply several times, then pulled out almost completely. Holding himself completely motionless for a few seconds, he then buried himself within her again.

Soft, panting moans were expelled from Buffy's mouth with each inward thrust. She closed her eyes tightly, lost in the sensations that thrummed through her.

"Look at me," Spike demanded. His molten blue gaze seared through her as she opened her eyes, focusing glazedly on him. He shifted his hips slightly, hitting her at a different angle, and she cried out in pleasure, her head flung back. But she didn't look away from his eyes. She clutched at his shoulderblades, panting slightly as a decadent tension began spreading through her limbs. Still, she didn't look away.

His back muscles tensed and released with his powerful thrusts. Her inner walls clenched at him spasmodically and his rhythm sped up. "Do that again," he said through gritted teeth. _Squeeze._ "Unnhgnaah..." he groaned incoherently, as with each stroke up into her she squeezed him.

Buffy gasped as her orgasm seemingly snuck up on her, the tension building quickly. "Spike, I'm gonna - " she threw her head back, crying out loudly as she climaxed. She bucked and writhed beneath him, her inner walls fluttering spasmodically. She was lost to him for several moments, though her gaze remained locked on his.

As she came down, he thrust hard into her one last time, his entire body trembling as he came in strong spurts within her. "Buffy," he moaned.

The powerful muscles of his arms were weak as a newborn's and he collapsed atop her, his head nestled between her breasts. He lay there for a few minutes, unable to move, then gathered all his strength and, in one smooth motion, pulled out of her and rolled onto his back.

"Buffy," he whispered, pulling her close and kissing her with infinite tenderness.

She didn't respond. She was already asleep.


	10. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

 

_4:00_ , the red digits of the alarm clock proclaimed. Buffy stared at them, her eyes dry. Three hours ago, she'd awoken in Spike's strong embrace, nude and feeling sticky. She'd extricated herself from his arms, and now lay on her side staring blankly at the number face of his alarm. _4:01_.

The blonde woman slipped from the bed, then plucked up his white, collared shirt and slipped it on. She allowed herself one last glance at Spike's sleeping form as she buttoned the shirt up most of the way, then crept toward the door, gathering up her clothes as she went. She froze when the door creaked loudly upon opening, staying still until she was sure the noise hadn't woken the bed's occupant.

The door was left open a crack and Buffy tiptoed down the hallway, entering her room. She tossed her clothes onto her bed, unbuttoned the shirt, and walked into her bathroom, turning on the shower taps. Stepping beneath the cascading water, she scrubbed herself mechanically. She lathered, rinsed, and repeated, then turned off the water and got out of the shower stall, the thick bath mat beneath her feet soaking up the water droplets that trickled down her nude form. Thick toweling patted her skin dry and she stared at herself in the mirror for a moment.

She walked back into her room, dressing sensibly in a pair of plain black pants and a white tank top. Black boots were slipped onto her feet, and she began packing quickly, folding her clothing haphazardly and stuffing it into her suitcases. Her picture of Dawn and herself was slipped between two thick sweatshirts and she patted the garments absentmindedly, then closed the cases. She made her bed, slipped her handbag over one shoulder, and opened her cell phone.

"Hi, I need a taxi," she said. "I'm going to LAX."

~*~*~*~

Spike's eyelids fluttered. His lips turned up in a tiny smile as he reached over, his arms wrapping around air and hitting the mattress. The pillow next to him smelled distinctly of Buffy, and he buried his face in it, inhaling deeply, before rolling onto his back and allowing his eyes to open.

He sat up slowly. Several of his joints were stiff, but he rotated them and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and with a quick twist of his torso, cracked his back satisfyingly. As he shuffled toward the dresser, his vision still sleep-blurred, he scratched his lower abdomen lazily. He opened his underwear drawer and dug around a bit, then pulled out a pair of threadbare Ninja Turtles boxers. He put them on, swaying groggily.

The blue-eyed man then made his way over to the slightly open door. Upon entering the hallway, the scent of Buffy's shampoo immediately filled his head. He didn't hear water running, but the vanilla scent was fresh enough that he figured he could catch her naked or steal her towel.

He knocked twice, softly, then when he received no response, he opened the door and stepped inside the room. The first thing he noticed was the rose he'd given her, laying on the bedspread.

The second thing he noticed were the empty dresser drawers.

His smile faded and his mouth dropped open. _Gone,_ he realized. Naturally his reaction was slightly violent.

He took a glass water pitcher and hurled it across the room, where it hit the wall and shattered. The bookshelf was quickly emptied of all its contents, and the bedspread was rent in two as he tore it from the mattress and flung it out into the hallway. He disassembled the bed itself, pillows flying every which way. The slightly-wilted rose was crushed when the mattress landed atop it. His fists pounded the wall next to the door repeatedly, punching holes through the drywall with nearly every hit.

With a bestial roar, he grasped the dresser in a firm hold and toppled it, still-open drawers splintering under the weight of the frame. The momentum of the dresser's fall sent him to his knees, where the first harsh sob escaped his throat. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes furiously, attempting to stop the tears from falling as he wept.

He barely felt the raw flesh of his knuckles and the blood trickling down his wrists. The cold, empty feeling in his heart hurt too much to notice.

~*~*~*~

"I need a one-way ticket to New York City." Buffy stood at the Continental Airlines ticket counter, her platinum card in her outstretched hand. "Leaving as soon as possible."

The airline employee's fingers flew over the keyboard as he scanned the monitor for open seating. "Ah," he said with a smile. "We have one opening in flight 1498, leaving in a half-hour. You'll have to run."

"I can do that. Do you take Visa?"

~*~*~*~

"I need a Band-aid," Spike said hoarsely, walking into the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes. He lifted his hands, palms in, to show Gina the extent of his injury.

His hands were swollen, the flesh an angry red in the unbleeding areas. It looked like he'd broken at least two fingers. "You need more than a Band-aid and some Neosporin," the middle-aged woman said. She glanced at his outfit, which still consisted of only the boxer shorts. "Put some clothes on. I'm taking you to the hospital."

He didn't move.

She placed her hands on her hips, looking at him sternly. "William Broad, if you ever want to climb again, you're going to go to the hospital. Now get dressed."

He sighed heavily, then turned and went back upstairs.

He pulled a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt out of his dresser at random and put them on, then slipped on his Adidas sandals. His unbroken fingers grasped the hem of his Sid Vicious shirt, straightening it. The soles of his sandals slapped against his heels as he returned to the kitchen. "'M ready to go," he said quietly.

Gina ushered him outside, where she unlocked the doors of her white VW Golf. "Get in," she said.

Spike did as he was told, climbing into the small car. He stared out the window blankly as his housekeeper got into the driver's seat and started the engine.

~*~*~*~

"Attention passengers," the captain said, his voice muffled by feedback from his microphone. "We are cruising comfortably at 15,000 feet, and should be arriving ahead of schedule in New York City. We'll be landing in approximately four hours." There was a short screech of feedback, and then the intercom shut off.

Buffy shifted in her seat in business class, trying to find a comfortable position. She settled half-leaning, with her left arm on the armrest, then closed her eyes and sighed.

~*~*~*~

_[The Day After Drusilla's Departure, Sunnydale]_

The sound of a large knife slicing through celery filled the kitchen. Gina busily chopped the green stalks, humming quietly to herself.

Buffy entered, sipping from her water bottle. "He seems less moody today," she said. "I thought Drusilla leaving would've... I don't know... effected him more."

"That's wonderful," the middle-aged woman replied, continuing to cut the celery. "I was worried he'd regress to the way he was when he first moved out here permanently."

The blonde quirked an eyebrow. "The way he was?" she parroted.

Gina nodded. "You should've seen him. He locked himself in his room, and only came out to eat or when he'd run out of liquor. Michael and I always suspected he'd gotten his heart broken by some woman, but we never said a thing."

"So you just let him deal," Buffy said. "Good strategy."

"Then suddenly," Gina continued as if Buffy hadn't spoken, "about six months after he moved in, he started mountain climbing again. As long as he climbs, I think, he doesn't mind that old pain so much."

_[Present Day]_

Buffy's eyes flew open suddenly as a sharp stab of pain twisted in her gut. She'd been guilt-free for most of the morning, and now the horror at what she'd done to Spike yet again was coming back to her forcefully.

Bile rose in her throat, bitter and thick. She clamped a slender hand over her mouth, her eyes bulging as she unbuckled her seatbelt and ran for the small airplane bathroom. She locked the door behind her, her abdominal muscles spasming, and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

~*~*~*~

It was difficult to take the cap off a bottle of Jim Beam with three tightly wrapped and splinted fingers. Twice, the bottle had slipped from Spike's heavily gauzed hands, landing with a dull thud on the carpet. He was about ready to open it with his teeth.

He grumbled frustratedly, then stood. His bare feet slapped against the floor tiles as he stormed into the kitchen. "Gina," he asked through gritted teeth, "can you open this?"

She took the Jim Beam from him, twisting the lid off in one smooth rotation of her hand and gave it back to him. He cradled it in his palms, unable to wrap his fingers around it. Gina looked at him disapprovingly as he took a long swig off the bottle.

"Ta, luv," he grunted, making his way back to the lounge. He flopped back onto the couch, then tipped the bourbon to his lips and guzzled down a sixth of the bottle down at once. It only hurt when he thought of Buffy. He was going to drink himself into such a stupor that he was too numb to feel the pain.

Alcohol, however, didn't do shit to prevent self-loathing.

"Must be somethin' wrong with me," the blond man decided. "Maybe 'm not... not smart enough, or strong enough for 'er." He took another swig of bourbon. "I'm beneath 'er. Gotta be my fault she left."

Halfway through the second bottle, Spike had an epiphany. "I know why you left!" he exclaimed. His inebriated grin at his discovery was soon replaced by a dark scowl. "Bloody bitch," he muttered. "Jus' because I forgot t' tell you that I love you, doesn't mean that you gotta run out on me."

An image of Buffy smiling happily flashed through his mind. "You'll be fine," he said, tipping the bottle back and gulping down more of the burning contents. "You're _always_ fine. Never stop t' consider what you're doin' t' other people though, do you?!" He was unaware that the volume of his voice was raising steadily.

"Broke m'heart twice now, an' I let you do it. I hate you!" he shouted, his voice breaking as tears began streaming down his cheeks, unnoticed. The bourbon bottle fell to the floor, the small amount that had been left sloshing out onto the carpet. "What the bloody 'ell am I supposed to do without you?!"

Violent sobs racked his body as more memories of the blonde beauty who'd torn his heart to shreds twice in three years came to him. "Why did you do this to me?" he whispered brokenly. "I love you..."

He glared at an unseen person across the room, wiping furiously at his tears. "I shouldn't have t' tell you that I love you!" he spat bitterly. "Bloody bint..."

He curled his unbroken fingers, then reached up and clawed at his chest, nearly rending the thin material of his tee shirt. "I gave you my heart, my fuckin' _soul_ , and you ripped 'em away like they were nothin'! You - " he stood, picked up the Jim Beam bottle, and flung it against the opposite wall in one smooth movement, " _\- bitch!_ "

A feral scream erupted from his mouth even as his legs collapsed and he crumpled to the floor as fatigue - both emotional and physical - and the alcohol that he'd ingested stole his consciousness.

~*~*~*~

It was one in the morning. Buffy lay awake in her own bed, curled into a fetal position. The lack of Spike's scent on her sheets nearly caused her to burst into tears. She rolled over onto her back, rubbing her eyes, then turned her head and glanced at her bedside phone, wondering if she should pick up the receiver.

Nobody would be up to talk to her at this hour.

She drew her legs up, rolling onto her side again. Flopped over and landed on her back. Punched her pillow twice for good measure. After an hour of sleepless tossing and turning, she got out of bed, pulled on her robe, and toed into her slippers. She shuffled into the kitchen, then turned on the coffee pot that she'd had all set for the morning. Might as well stay awake if she couldn't sleep.

Work... was a different question. She wasn't expected in the office for another day, but she thought if she didn't do something work-related, she'd - "Go insane," she mumbled. "Oh great, Buffy. You're talking to yourself."

She glared at the coffee maker, wishing it'd percolate a little faster. "Percolate's a funny word." She opened the refrigerator, scanning its meager contents, and realized that if she wanted food she'd have to order in. "Per-co-late," she enunciated.

"Hello?"

Buffy hadn't even realized she'd picked up the phone and dialed until Dawn's voice, hoarse and sleepy, filtered through the receiver. "D-Dawnie?" she stuttered. _Is that my voice?_

Across town, Dawn sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Buffy? Where are you?"

"I'm in my apartment," the blonde half-whispered. "Did I wake you?"

The tremor in Buffy's voice caused Dawn concern. "No," she lied. "What's wrong?"

"I just needed to... to talk to someone," Buffy replied. "I think I might have broken him for good..."

Dawn knew immediately who her sister spoke of. She'd gotten a phone call from a drunken, enraged Spike earlier in the day, demanding to know where Buffy had gone. It was during the call that he'd blurted a declaration of love for the brunette's sister. Still, she asked, "Broken who?"

"Spike..." the blonde sniffled.

Over the last few years, Dawn had acquired the skill of dressing while still having a telephone conversation. "What happened?" she asked as she tied her shoes.

"I..." Buffy said, emotion closing off her throat. "I don't think I can tell you over the phone..."

"I'll be right over," Dawn said as she slipped her coat on. She grabbed her keys and tiptoed over to the bed, kissing a sleeping Carlos' temple before leaving the room.

Fifteen minutes later, as Buffy stared blankly into her mug of fresh coffee, her doorbell rang. She stood and walked over to the door, letting Dawn in. The sisters embraced warmly, causing Buffy to start sniffling again.

The brunette stepped back. "Okay, what's wrong?" Dawn asked sternly, shrugging out of her coat. She walked into the living room, plopping down tiredly onto the couch.

"Where do you want me to start?" the older Summers sister asked with a mirthless little laugh.

"Usually the beginning's a good place," Dawn replied.

"Three years ago - that night you set Spike and I up, I didn't go back to my apartment," Buffy began. "We both got a little too drunk, and I ended up sleeping with him."

"I knew that," Dawn said.

"I think he fell in love with me that night," the blonde said. "All the flowers, and he kept trying to see me, and... I just pushed him away... and that's not even the worst part. Gina said that he'd been over whoever had broken his heart for about a month when I showed up to start therapy. And the chemistry was there, as if I hadn't ever left him, Dawnie."

Tears began streaming freely down Buffy's cheeks now. "We slept together," she said, "last night. And this morning, I packed up and left. And I know how _wrong_ it was, how wrong _I_ was, and - "

"Do you love him?" Dawn asked softly.

Buffy looked up in shock.

"It's... it's okay if you do. God, I'd be thrilled, I've been trying to get you two together for such a long time, and - "

"I do," Buffy whimpered, wrapping her arms about her waist. "I love him, and I left him, and... and nothing feels right without him here..."

Dawn nodded in understanding.

"Don't say you forgive me," Buffy pleaded. "Don't look at me like you understand what it's like to break his heart _twice_ , don't tell me it's okay." She buried her face in Dawn's lap and the brunette's eyes widened momentarily before her hands came up to stroke her sister's hair. "Please, don't forgive me..." she sobbed.


	11. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

_One Month Later_

Spike flexed his fingers, then cracked his knuckles. Faint white scars crisscrossed the backs of his hands and they rippled slightly as he got a firm grip on the first handhold of the climbing wall, preparing to hoist himself upwards. He lifted his left leg, stepping up onto a foothold. A powerful contraction of his thigh, visible through his black exercise pants, propelled his body toward the next grip. He pressed his hips inward, retaining his balance, and moved to the next grip, then the next one.

Halfway up the flat part of the climbing wall, he gripped a handhold and it snapped off. "Bloody - " he exclaimed, dangling from his right arm. The tendons in his forearm twitched and jerked as he swung himself across the surface of the wall, hoping desperately that he'd grab a non-breakaway grip. The fingers of his left hand curled around an outcropping of fake stone and held. The outcropping stayed fast. His rubber-soled climbing shoes dug into the wall, finally finding purchase on two small sections of the wall.

Now came the hard part.

Directly above Spike's head, the climbing wall tilted forward at a 45º angle. If he could make it up over the ten feet of wall that would have him leaning backwards, halfway upside-down, then he'd be home free. The tilted stretch of the wall, however, would cause him to rely almost solely on the power in his back and legs. He gritted his teeth, a determined look in his eyes. Moving carefully, he maneuvered upwards, keeping his hips arched toward the wall to prevent himself from falling embarrassingly.

Step. Grab. Step. Grab. Twice, he missed his foothold, clutching desperately to the wall as he struggled to regain his balance. Step. Grab. One more handhold and he'd be able to hoist himself upwards. He thrust himself forward with his right leg, reaching up and grasping - air. As his body swung downward, he grabbed at the wall, his fingers curling around a grip just before he would've started to plummet toward the padded floor below. His heart was pounding, blood rushing in his ears as he he completed the final ascent.

With a grunt and an upward heave of his arms and abdominal muscles, he hoisted himself up onto the top of the climbing wall and sat with legs dangling. He wiped his brow, then flicked the beads of sweat off his hand. Glancing down, Spike noticed he'd attracted an audience during his climb. _Isn't that..._ their conversations filtered up to him. _Dude, I thought he was paralyzed..._

"Oi, Mark!" he called. "I'm ready t' come down now."

The dark-haired gym worker who'd been spotting him as he climbed, waved in the affirmative, and kept a firm grip on the nylon rope as Spike swung himself back down onto the wall and kicked off. He rappelled down the climbing wall, coming to a soft landing. After unbuckling his harnesses and wiping his hands on his teeshirt, he grinned at Mark. "Felt good t' finish that," Spike said. "Thanks for the spot, mate."

"No problem," Mark replied. "You gonna go back to doing mountains soon?"

"Most like," he said. "Gotta take my title back from that fresh-faced little wanker, don't I?" He bent down and started gathering up his gear. "An' as for all you onlookers, yeah, I'm Spike Broad, yeah, I was paralyzed, an' yeah, I'm better now. 'Ad m'self a good therapist." Draping his gear over one shoulder, he exited the club as the crowd tittered.

His cell phone rang as he walked through the parking lot towards his car. "Yeah," he grunted by way of greeting.

"Spike?"

"Dawnie-luv, good t' hear from you," he said with a smile. "How are you?"

A pause. "Actually, that's why I called. Not about me, but about you. Just wanted to know how you were dealing. You know, with the whole - "

A twinge of pain shot through his heart. So much for his mantra of _if I don't move, if I don't speak, if I don't think about Buffy, then it won't hurt... much..._ He cut her off. "Dealin' as well as you can expect, I guess..." In a desperate attempt to change the subject before the other customers of the fitness club witnessed a world-class athlete bawling like a baby in the middle of the parking lot, he said, "Climbed the advanced section of the rock wall at the gym today. Figure I can do m'first mountain in a few weeks."

"That's great," Dawn said. "Don't change the subject."

Spike rolled his eyes, unlocking his trunk and tossing his gear within. "If you're askin' if it still hurts, then yeah. Every second. But 'm movin' on."

Dawn's voice came through a bit panicked as she blurted, "She misses you too."

He wanted to scream _Then why did she leave me?!_ , but all he managed was a little, half-whispered "Oh." She missed him. That was good, right? He honestly didn't know anymore.

"She's starting to date again."

"Oh," he said again, as the twinge of pain in his heart became a mild burning sensation.

"Spike, I'm going to ask you this once, and only once," Dawn said, her tone becoming stern. "Do you still love my sister? Do you  
still want to be with her?"

"More than anythin' else in the world," he replied gravely as he climbed into the Mustang.

"Then this is what we're going to do..."

~*~*~*~

_Two Weeks Later_

"Hi, Miles?" Dawn asked cheerily into the receiver. "This is Dawn Summers, Buffy's sister. Listen, she can't make your date tonight. Yeah, she's sick or something, because she's been yacking for the past ten minutes..." she said, stifling a giggle as she pictured the expression on the stuffy tightass's face. "Yeah, she's sorry. I'll have her call you when she's feeling better, 'kay? Alright. Nice talking to you, Miles. Bye!" She hung up the phone. " _But I made dinner reservations_ ," she mocked in a high-pitched voice, making a face. "Ugh."

A weak moan came from in the bathroom. "Thanks for coming over, Dawnie," Buffy said, her voice muffled by the door. "Nice to know that unconditional sisterly love extends to taking care of me when I boot, especially when I know you have a spring line to design." Her stomach flipped over and she clutched the toilet again as she dry-heaved. "I _knew_ I shouldn't have eaten that seafood for lunch..." she groaned.

Dawn opened the bathroom door a crack, wrinkling her nose as the smell of vomit wafted out to her. She stuck her head in. "Buffy, maybe you should see a doctor if you're sick."

"I'm _fine_ ," Buffy insisted as her insides twisted once more. She coughed and choked as dry heaves racked her frame. "Okay, maybe not so fine," she admitted. She grimaced at the colored tile and paint on the walls that was starting to flake a bit. "And I really need to redecorate this bathroom."

"Alright, I'm gonna call the doctor," Dawn said. She loped out into the kitchen and picked up the telephone. After some minor exaggeration of her sister's case, she was able to get her an appointment in fifteen minutes at the doctor's office three blocks away. She plucked up Buffy's coat, carrying it with her into the bathroom. "You've got an appointment at 3:45," Dawn announced. "Come on, put on your jacket." Buffy weakly lifted her arms, allowing Dawn to put the leather jacket on her. "Alright, now standing's a good thing. I'll help you walk there, you just gotta hold on for a second while I get my coat and our bags."

She helped Buffy walk slowly to the couch, where she set her down while she shrugged into her own leather jacket and plucked up two purses. She set Buffy's sunglasses on the brim of her nose, then pulled her to her feet again. "Let's go."

The dry heaves hit Buffy three times on their walk to the doctor's office, once causing her to double over in pain. Dawn wondered if all her careful planning with Spike would fall through.

The brunette ushered her blonde sister into the office, where she was quickly taken in for examination.

"Well," the doctor said, looking down at his charts, "Buffy, what seems to be the problem today?"

"Mostly, an utter lack of keeping any food in my stomach," she said with a weak laugh. "Also, general ookiness."

"Is that the clinical term?" he joked as he pulled out a thermometer. "I'm just gonna take your temp," he said as she opened her mouth and he slipped the metal instrument beneath her tongue. The thermometer beeped. "98.6," he said. "Perfectly normal." He picked up a few other tools, looking in her ears and eyes. "Well you _seem_ fine, but if you insist that you're sick, I should probably take a blood sample. Now I'm going to need you to relax your arm..." he said.

It was a little-known fact that Buffy was petrified of needles. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the sensation of the thin metal object sliding into her flesh as he drew the vial of blood. When the vial had filled, he taped a wadded piece of gauze in place and slid the needle out of her arm. "All set," he said as he flicked the vial. "I'll send this to the lab for testing, and we should know what's bothering you by Friday."

"Thanks," Buffy said, hopping out of her seat. She exited the exam room and asked the receptionist to bill her. "Guess what?" she  
asked hoarsely as she shuffled out into the waiting room. "Turns out I'm perfectly healthy. Who would've thought?" She smiled weakly.

Dawn raised an eyebrow. " _Sure_ you're fine. That's why I cancelled your date," she said matter-of-factly as she picked up their bags and coats. She handed Buffy hers and she shrugged into it.

"You _cancelled_ my date?" Buffy asked incredulously. The blonde snatched her purse from her sister. "But... Miles was nice!" They exited the doctor's office.

"And _boring_ ," Dawn added under her breath. "Buffy, you were puking all over the place. How the hell was I supposed to know you were gonna get a clean bill of health from the doctor?"

"Okay, good point, but I really liked him," Buffy protested.

"Buffy, no matter what that doctor says, you're too sick to date _anyone_ tonight. Now I'm going to take you home, and you're going to lie down and rest."

"Fine," Buffy grumbled. "Just don't make me eat anything, I'm not sure my stomach could handle it."

"What if we watch a movie? Or - hey, it's Tuesday. That show you like is on at eight, right?" Dawn paused. "I never understood why you liked it so much. All that violence and bloodshed..."

"It's that one vampire guy," Buffy said. "He's a hottie, and they're showing him nearly naked a whole lot."

The sisters giggled as they re-entered Buffy's apartment building.

~*~*~*~

At precisely 2:30 in the afternoon on Friday, the doors of Buffy's outer office opened. A lean figure with a startling face walked in dramatically, with the leather of his long coat flapping behind him. Clutching a simple bouquet of flowers in one hand, he strolled up to the secretary's desk and fixed her with a brilliant grin. "'Lo, luv," he said. "I'm a former client of Ms. Summers', an' I'd like to 'ave a word with her."

Normally, the secretary would've had to ask his name, but she was so flustered with his appearance that she merely waved him through. Blushing slightly, she returned to her instant messaging and proclaimed that she'd just seen the most gorgeous athlete that had ever existed, and why wasn't he a movie star?

He paused at the slightly open door of Buffy's inner office, listening to her speak in hushed tones, presumably to someone on the phone.

Inside, Buffy was speaking agitatedly to Dawn. She'd gotten the results of her blood testing that morning. "Yes, Dawnie, I'm sure," she said as she paced back and forth in front of her desk. "No, the doctor didn't make a mistake." She winced as her sister squealed excitedly, pulling the receiver away from her ear. "Yeah, he congratulated me and everything... Yes I know you've been hoping for something like this to happen to me..."

"Say it one more time!" Dawn demanded on the other end, still not sure she'd heard her sister correctly.

Buffy sighed. "I'm pregnant, and it's - " she cut off as she turned around. "Spike's." She nearly dropped the receiver.

Spike stood framed by her doorway, his blue eyes wide with disbelief. His jaw ticked as his lips parted softly, then his mouth hardened, then softened again as his emotions reeled. The bouquet fell, forgotten, from his slack hand.

"Dawn?" Buffy asked tremulously. "I'm going to have to call you back." With a shaking hand, she replaced the receiver on the hook. "Spike," she said quietly.

"Were you going to tell me?" he asked, afraid to move for fear he'd run to her and beg her to come back to him.

She was silent for a moment, scanning his face while she weighed her answer. The hurt look in his eyes nearly incapacitated her.

"God, Buffy, you weren't gonna keep this from me, were you?" The urge to yell at her and then kiss her senseless, or possibly vice-versa grew stronger. "Were you?" he asked again, his tone dropping to a harsh whisper.

"I don't know," Buffy replied honestly. "I only found out this morning." Her legs suddenly felt weak, but she locked her knees and refused to sit. "Why are you here?"

His gaze ping-ponged between her eyes and her flat belly. _My baby's in there,_ he thought as a fierce wave of possession coursed through him. He wanted nothing more than to whisk Buffy and his unborn child away to protect them from anyone and anything that attempted to do them harm.

He cleared his throat. "Mostly," he said, "t' congratulate you on your therapy work. I'm goin' up to Maine to climb Katahdin on Sunday. But that's not the only reason I'm 'ere."

Buffy folded her arms over her chest, attempting to look tough. "So what is it then?" she asked, trying to keep herself from falling to her knees and begging his forgiveness for hurting him.

"Dawn," he replied.

"I don't understand," she said. "What does Dawn have to do with us... this... anything?"

"She told me that you were movin' on, so I figured I should prob'ly tell you what I'd been dyin' to tell you since I left." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the perfectly gelled curls. "I 'ad this whole speech planned," he said quietly, "about how every minute without you has been 'ell for me, an' how I wanted you back more than anythin' else in the world, an' most importantly, how I forgot to tell you that I love you, but I can't rightly remember how it was s'posed to go."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but he shushed her with a raised hand. "So the secret's out, then. I love you, Buffy. Always 'ave. Prob'ly always will. You don't 'ave to love me back, but it'd be nice." He turned to leave, but stopped. "Ball's in your court now, Summers. What's it gonna be?" His coat billowed around him as he stalked out of the office.

Only then did Buffy allow herself to collapse into one of her plush chairs, wondering what had happened to his hands.


	12. The Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All-human AU. As one of the leading physical therapists in the country, Buffy Summers gets to work with some of the most famous athletes in professional sports. She's never contemplated turning anyone down - until her little sister pleads with her to work on William Broad - the world's most famous rock climber, a man that she's disliked since their first meeting five years ago. Unfortunately for Buffy, her sister is very good at persuasive tactics, and the blonde soon finds herself shipped off to California with all her belongings, prepared to move into William's lush mansion to give him all the therapy he needs to get back on his feet. Loosely based on the novel _Adam's Fall_ by Sandra Brown.

"So the secret's out, then. I love you, Buffy. Always 'ave. Prob'ly always will. You don't 'ave to love me back, but it'd be nice." He turned to leave, but stopped. "Ball's in your court now, Summers. What's it gonna be?" His coat billowed around him as he stalked out of the office.

Only then did Buffy allow herself to collapse into one of her plush chairs, wondering what had happened to his hands. Of course as reactions go, Buffy realized moments later, collapsing was the worst one she could've possibly had. She bolted upright, dashing out of her office and into the hallway.

Spike was nowhere to be seen.

"Dammit... for once in my life I wish my sense of timing were better..." she muttered as she turned around, preparing to head back into the office. She took two steps and collided with a black-clad chest. Her nose was pressed directly to the fabric of his shirt, and she inhaled deeply before backing up. "Spike?" she asked.

"I made the dramatic exit," he said quietly. "Said everythin' I wanted to say. But I couldn't leave without tastin' you again..."

Spike reached out, gripping her chin lightly with his thumb and index finger and tilted her face upwards. He stepped into her personal space and wrapped his other arm around her waist lightly. He peppered tiny kisses over her face as if branding the impression of her eyes, nose, forehead, cheeks, and chin on his brain through the nerve endings in his lips. His heart was breaking all over again even as he dipped his head downward and took her mouth with his own.

To Buffy, it felt like a goodbye kiss. She tasted tears on his lips, tasted his pain and his love. And she gave as good as she got. When his tongue dipped between her slightly parted lips, she caressed it with hers, and her hands slipped beneath the leather of his coat and underneath his untucked black button-down to massage the warm muscles of his lower back. Somehow, the finality of the emotions involved in the kiss seemed to dissolve when her hands met his flesh.

He lifted his head, staring into her eyes as conflicting emotions warred in his. They were both breathing hard, nearly nose-to-nose, gazes locked. "Buffy..." Spike whispered.

She smiled nervously, her throat working spasmodically. _Say it, Buffy,_ her inner voice urged. _Say it or watch him walk away, probably for the last time..._ She swallowed once, then extricated her right hand from beneath his shirt, reaching up to cup his cheek in her palm. "I love you," she said.

Spike's eyes widened. A thousand thousand questions ran through his mind, but the only thing he could think to say was a whispered, "What?"

"I love you, Spike," she repeated. At the utterly shocked expression on his face, she smiled again, gently this time.

His arms enfolded her in a powerful embrace. "God, Buffy..." he rasped, kissing the top of her head, her ear, her throat. "I was so unhappy without you..."

"I know the feeling." The fingers of her left hand threaded through his hair, her right resting on the small of his back. "I'll never leave again."

Desperately, he kissed her then, his tongue pressing deep into her mouth. He withdrew slightly, flicking the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, then backed off again. His normally icy blue eyes had darkened to a deep shade of cerulean and he gazed openly at her. "Won't let you out 'f my sight long enough for you to disappear," he swore.

Buffy evaded his lips as his head dipped toward hers again. He pouted, causing her to giggle. "Much as I like making out with you in the middle of the hallway of my place of employment, I think we should probably go somewhere more... private... before this gets any hotter."

"Not an exhibitionist, then?" Spike asked with a little grin.

She shook her head. "Not so much," she said with a small giggle. She stepped away from him, smiling when he wouldn't release her hand, then walked back inside with him in tow. They re-entered her office and Buffy suddenly found herself pressed up against the wall by Spike, his fingers threading through her blonde tresses and his lips ravaging hers. Neither knew who had initiated the kiss, but it went on for several minutes, tongues stroking one another, lips and teeth clashing, before Buffy raised her hands to his chest.

She wanted to push him away, really she did.

Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt as the kiss continued. An inferno was building in them both, as they stood pressed together from lips to knees. Finally she nudged him away just slightly, turning her head so his blindly seeking lips landed on her throat instead of her mouth. "Spike..." she murmured, "... have you ever made love in a physical therapy office?"

He shook his head, his face buried in the hollow of her throat.

"Unless you'd like to entertain my assistant with a free porn show," she said, breaking off on a gasp as he worried her earlobe with his teeth, "we'd better get someplace with a bed. Fast."

Spike lifted his head. "M'hotel is three blocks away," he said with a grin. "An' I know your flat's across town."

He released her then, and she stumbled slightly as she plucked her coat off the chair she'd draped it over. She shrugged into it, then  
picked up her handbag. "Race you," she said with an impish grin, dashing breathlessly from the office.

~*~*~*~

Dawn fidgeted with the telephone cord as she held the receiver to her ear. On the third ring, Willow picked up. The red-haired secretary answered with a cheery, "Buffy Summers' office! How may I help you?"

"Hey, Willow!" Dawn greeted. "It's Dawn Summers. Is Buffy in?"

"You just missed her," Willow said sympathetically. "She left with some bleached-blond guy, do you know him?"

The brunette barely contained her excited squeal. "Yeah, I know him," she said calmly. "Thanks, Willow!" She hung up the phone, and promptly began dancing around the room.

~*~*~*~

Buffy and Spike got into the elevator at the hotel with an elderly couple. They stood in opposite corners, and the control they held over themselves to refrain from touching one another in the company of the retirees was near-painful. On the twelfth floor, the old man and woman got out of the elevator. Before the door had even closed completely, Buffy had launched herself at Spike, nearly knocking him over in her desperation to feel his mouth on hers again.

"Ah," she gasped as his lips trailed a fiery path across her cheek and down her throat. "What... what floor is your room?"

He pulled back enough to jab the button for the twelfth floor with his thumb. The elevator descended, and he kissed her once more. This kiss, by contrast to the others, was gentle and sweet, conveying all his feelings for her in a play of lips against lips. "Love you," he whispered against her mouth as the doors opened on the twelfth floor a second time. They stepped apart and he grasped her hand, leading her down the hall toward his room.

As he fished in the pocket of his coat for his keycard, a wave of nervousness shot through her. _Why the hell am I nervous?_ she asked herself. _It's not like I haven't done this befo -_

He led her into the room, closing and locking the door behind him, and Buffy's nervousness was replaced by such an intense ... want... that she'd never experienced. She laced her fingers in his softly-gelled curls, tugging his head down for a ferocious kiss. While their mouths meshed, her fingers nimbly untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, and then her palms pressed against his warm, firm chest, smoothing down his abdomen. Her fingertips disappeared beneath the waistline of his black khakis, urging him closer to her.

Spike's hands caught the hem of her knit top and pulled it upwards, bunching it over her silk-covered breasts. She released his body and mouth just long enough for him to tug the shirt up over her head, and then her mouth latched onto a flat nipple while her hands pushed his duster and button-down off his shoulders and onto the floor. He hissed in pleasure. Her mouth meandered lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses wherever it landed, and the bed had never looked so far away.

Then she unbuckled his belt, unfastened his khakis, and took his hard, twitching cock into her hand. A rough half-whimper escaped his throat as he arched his throat and his eyes rolled back. "Buffy," he groaned.

Later, he'd wonder how she'd managed to get her panties off and her skirt around her waist.

She tugged his khakis further down and pulled him to the floor, pressing him onto his back gently. Then she rose above him like Aphrodite, her knees on either side of his hips, and sank down onto him in one fluid stroke. She remained still for a few moments as he shuddered and twitched beneath her, one hand flat against his chest, stroking in a calming gesture. "Shh..." she whispered. "I've got you..."

Spike clenched his jaw tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought for control. Tried to picture something, _anything_ that would hold off his climax, but the overwhelming sense of Buffy overrode his attempts. "Not gonna last very long," he admitted sheepishly, his breath catching in his throat as she reached back and unhooked her bra.

"Neither am I," she replied.

And then she began to move, and it was everything.

He glanced away from her face, his gaze trailing hotly down her form to where their bodies joined and he watched fascinatedly as his cock, glistening with her juices, disappeared into her over and over. He said her name. A visible shudder ran through her, and he spoke again. He began babbling incoherently as the steady pace she'd set faltered and her inner walls tightened once around him, then relaxed again. "Baby, fuck, love you, love you, nobody but Buffy, fuck, fuck, never better, love you..." he chanted.

It seemed Buffy liked a talkative lover. During the middle of Spike's litany, the intense sensations that had been building in her since the first kiss back at her office suddenly came to a complete standstill. It went on for several seconds like this, her pleasure seemingly on pause, but despite her confusion over this new development, she kept rocking her hips against his, up and down and up and down and -

Heaven. She gasped and writhed atop him, her pelvis pressing down hard onto his as she rubbed her clit against his pubic bone and took him deeper within her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as her back arched and her limbs twisted. Spike found his own release just moments later, pumping up into her and clutching desperately at her hips. He was still throbbing, half-hard within her when she collapsed, exhausted, onto his chest.

"Love you," Buffy murmured against his left pec as she tried desperately not to drool.

"Mm," he agreed. He petted her back and hair gently. "Love you too, baby." Then his eyes shot open. _Baby_. "We didn't 'urt the - "

Buffy lifted her head, placing two fingers against his mouth. "The baby is fine, Spike. Perfect, even." She pursed her lips. "But Mommy thinks she and Daddy would be more comfortable in a bed."

Spike snaked one hand between them, patting her stomach affectionately. "Someone's mum is a smart lady," he said.

She lay languidly atop him for a short while, regaining her strength, then pushed herself upwards into a sitting position and lifted herself up off his now mostly-soft penis. After standing and divesting herself of her wrinkled skirt, she stretched in an almost feline manor and walked over to the bed, where she lay down and relaxed. She could feel his eyes on her, and when she glanced over at him, he was busily tugging off his shoes and pants. He stood naked and proud before her.

One glance down his lean, muscular form told her that he wanted her again. Still. Possibly perpetually.

"Can't 'elp it," he murmured as he walked closer to the bed, lowering himself down so he rested with one knee on the mattress and one foot on the floor. "All I 'ave to do is look at you, an' I'm randier than a fifteen-year-old."

"I'm not complaining," Buffy said. "It's kinda convenient, if you think about it."

"For you or me?" Spike asked, leaning down to her.

His question remained unanswered as she cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down to lie on the bed beside her, their naked limbs entwining.

~*~*~*~

Spike awoke first, nuzzling into his warm, sweet-smelling pillow. Only when the pillow moved did he smile softly against its skin. "Good morning, love," he said quietly. "'Ave I told you yet 'ow beautiful you are?"

Buffy sighed and threaded her fingers through Spike's hair as he nuzzled her breasts with his nose. "Many times," she said. "But it doesn't hurt to hear it."

"You're beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, "an' sexy, and smart, and absolutely mad for me."

She giggled. "Mad for you, huh?"

He nodded against her chest. "Mm-hmm," he agreed. "An' I love you."

"I love you too."

**END**


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